UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF  CAPT.  AND   MRS. 
PAUL  MCBRIDE  PERIGORD 


UNIVERSITY  of  CAUFUKXim 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 


THE  FLYING  BO'SUN 

A  MYSTERY  OF  THE  SEA 

I 

BY 

ARTHUR  MASON 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1920 


136490 


COPYRIGHT,  1920 

BY 
HEXRY  HOLT  AKD  COMPANY 


PS 


DEDICATED 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OK 

MY  MOTHER 

WHOSE  SYMPATHY  MADE 

IT  POSSIBLE  FOR  ME 

TO  GO  TO  SEA 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I  PAGB 

OFF  FOR  THE  SOUTH  SEAS,  WITH  FEW  CLOTHES 
BUT  A  STOUT  HEART  .  .  3 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  STORM  —  TATTERED  AND  TORN  BUT  STILL  ON 
THE  OCEAN    .     .  13 


CHAPTER  III 

BEECHAM  's  PILLS  ARE  WORTH  A  GUINEA  THOUGH 

THEY  COST  BUT  EIGHTEEN  PENCE  .  25 


CHAPTER  IY 

PERSONALITIES  —  OMENS  AND   SUPERSTITIONS  OF 

OLD  CHARLIE      .........     33 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  SHARK  —  "  To  HELL  WITH  SHARK  AND  SHIP"    44 

CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TIN-PLATE  FIGHT  —  ONE-EYED  RELEY  TRI- 
UMPHS       ...........     52 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VII  PAW 

IN  WHICH  THE  CAPTAIN  WOUNDS  His  HAND  .     .     61 

CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  Bo 'SUN  LIGHTS  —  THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEATH   .     68 

CHAPTER  IX 
THE  SHOWDOWN  —  SWANSON  TAKES  THE  COUNT  .     76 

\ 

CHAPTER  X 

BUBIAL  AT  SEA  —  IN  WHICH  RILEY  OFFICIATES  .    83 

CHAPTER  XI 

ASTRAL  INFLUENCES  —  THE  CREW'S  VERSION  OF 
THE  UNKNOWN .91 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  COOK'S  WATCH  —  MATERIALISM  VERSUS  As- 
TRALISM 100 

CHAPTER  XIII 

HIGHER  INTELLIGENCE  —  A  VISIT  FROM  Our  THE 
SHADOWS 107 

CHAPTER  XIV 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  —  OUR  UNWILLING  GUEST  THE 
DOLPHIN  .  .     .  117 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XV  PAOK 

CRIMP  AND  SAILOR  —  THE  COOK'S  MARXIAN  EF 
FORT  .  123 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  —  A  HORSE-MARINE  AD 
VENTURE    130 

CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  FRAGRANT  SMELL  OF  THE  ALLURING  PALMS  .  141 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
SUVA  HARBOR  —  THE  REEF  AND  THE  LIGHTHOUSES  146 

CHAPTER  XIX 

INTRODUCING  CAPTAIN  KANE,  MRS.  FAGAN  AND 
MRS.  FAGAN 's  BAR 151 

CHAPTER  XX 
REMINISCENCES  OF  OLD  CLIPPER  DAYS  .     .     .     .  158 

CHAPTER  XXI 

UNLOADING  CARGO  —  AGAIN  THE  MASTER  —  NA 
TIVE  POLICE 163 

CHAPTER  XXII 

SHORE  LEAVE  —  THE  WEB-TOED  SAILOR  —  THE 
MISSIONARY  SHIP  ...  .  173 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

FIJI  ROYALTY  —  LOCAL  COLOR  —  VISITORS  TO  THE 
SHIP 187 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

A    DRIVE    WITH    CAPTAIN    KANE  —  RAZORBACK 
RAMPANT 194 

CHAPTER  XXV 
HOMEWARD  BOUND  —  THE  STOWAWAY     .     .     .  202 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  MYSTERIOUS  HINDOO 211 

CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  HURRICANE 220 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  MASTER  RETURNS 228 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE  HOME  PORT  ......  .238 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

Hardship  is  a  stern  master,  from  whom  we 
part  willingly. 

But  it  is  often  true  that  real  men  learn 
thereby  to  handle  their  fellow-men,  to  love  them, 
and  to  make  the  most  of  their  own  manhood.  In 
no  class  is  this  more  marked  than  among  those 
who  have  been  formed  by  the  training  of  the 
sea. 

Hundreds  have  lost  their  lives  there,  hundreds 
more  have  been  coarsened  through  ignorance 
and  because  of  rough  living,  but  the  survivors, 
who  have  used  what  God  gave  them  of  brain 
and  muscle  to  the  best  advantage,  are  a  lot  of 
men  to  be  trusted  mightily. 

I  am  proud  to  have  known  such  men,  and  to 
have  lived  the  life  that  made  them  what  they 
are,  and,  above  all,  proud  to  have  sailed  before 
the  time  when  steam  began  to  drive  the  square- 
rigger  from  the  seas. 

Therefore  I  have  ventured  to  set  before  the 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

public  a  narrative  of  my  own  experience,  some 
what  condensed,  but  little  changed,  even  in  some 
parts  that  may  seem  hard  to  believe,  but  sailors 
are  known  to  be  superstitious.  Should  this 
book  fall  into  the  hands  of  other  sailors,  I  think 
it  will  interest  them,  and  landsmen  may  care  for 
the  truthful  record  of  a  day  that  is  almost  gone. 

A.  M. 


THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 


CHAPTER  I 

OFF  FOR  THE  SOUTH  SEAS,  WITH  FEW  CLOTHES 
BUT  A  STOUT  HEART 

Her  name  was  the  "  Wampa/'  graceful  to  look 
at,  with  her  tall  and  stately  masts,  rigged  with 
fore  and  aft  sails.  She  was  known  as  one  of  the 
fastest  schooners  sailing  to  the  Southern  Seas. 

That  afternoon  in  December  found  her  load 
ing  lumber  in  a  rather  quaint  saw-mill  town  on 
the  Puget  Sound.  Her  Captain,  who  was  a 
Swede,  was  tall  and  handsome  and  had  none  of 
the  earmarks  of  the  old  salt.  He  seemed  to  be 
very  nervous  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
poop  deck.  Once  he  called  out,  "  Olsen,  put  one 
more  truck  load  on,  then  get  your  deck  lashings 
ready.  She  is  down  now,  she  has  eight  inches 
of  water  on  the  after  deck."  With  that  he 
jumped  ashore  saying,  "  If  I  can  find  a  mate  we 
will  sail  this  evening." 

As  I  stood  there  viewing  her  yacht-like  lines 
and  noticing  the  shark's  fin  on  her  bowsprit, 


4  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

I  was  satisfied  that  she  was  in  a  class  by  her 
self. 

As  he  turned  to  go  I  said,  "  Captain,  do  you 
need  a  mate?  " 

"  Are  you  a  mate?  If  you  can  get  your  trunk 
and  bag  on  board  we  will  sail  within  an  hour." 

"  But  I  have  neither  bag  nor  trunk.  If  you 
want  me  you  will  have  to  take  me  as  I  stand." 

"  Have  you  a  sextant?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  borrow  one  from  the  tug  boat 
captain.  He  never  leaves  sight  of  land.  I  am 
sure  he  will  rent  it  to  me  for  this  voyage." 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.  "  Get  your  sextant,  and 
we  will  find  some  way  of  getting  rubber  boots 
and  oil  skins,"  and  off  he  ntrolled  up  to  the 
Company's  office. 

Two  hours  later,  with  the  deck  lashings  set 
up,  tug  boat  alongside,  everything  ready  for  our 
voyage,  our  Captain  sang  out  "  Let  go  forward, 
starboard  your  helm,  Murphy," — the  tug  boat 
gave  a  "  toot,  toot,"  and  we  were  off  for  the 
open  sea. 

By  this  time  I  had  a  chance  to  size  up  the 
crew.  The  second  mate  was  a  short,  thick, 
heavy-set  Dane,  seemingly  a  good  sailor.  Our 


OFF  FOR  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  5 

cook  was  a  greasy,  dirty-looking  German  and, 
from  what  few  wrords  I  had  with  him,  showed 
that  he  was  a  Socialist.  The  sailors  were 
Dagoes,  Irish,  Swedes  and  Russian  Finns. 

With  the  wind  freshening  as  we  neared  the 
open  sea,  the  Captain  sang  out,  "  Mr.  Mate,  loose 
and  set  the  foresail  and  main  jib."  With  the 
gaskets  off  I  gave  the  order  to  hoist  away.  I 
noticed  one  very  large  Swede  hardly  pulling  a 
pound.  I  say  "  large " ;  he  stood  six  feet  or 
more  and  weighed  upwards  of  two  hundred. 
"  WThat  is  your  name?  "  said  I. 

He  looked  me  over  and  said,  "  Why?  " 

I  said  "  You  must  pull  some  more  or  you  will 
never  know  what  your  name  was." 

I  decided  that  now  was  the  time  to  take  care 
of  this  sea  lawyer.  The  foresail  was  about  half 
up.  I  gave  the  order  to  make  fast. 

I  said  to  this  big  Swede,  "  Come  here,  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

"  If  you  want  me  come  and  get  me." 

"  Very  good,"  and  with  that  I  caught  him  with 
a  strangle  hold  and  dragged  him  across  the  deck. 
Then  I  released  him.  "  Now  tell  me  what  your 
name  is." 


6  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

He  looked  amazed  and  humiliated,  and  in  a 
hoarse  voice  said,  "  Swanson." 

I  said,  "  Swanson,  I  want  you  to  work,  and 
work  your  share." 

He  said,  "  You  ban  good  steerman." 

Steerman  is  the  Swedish  for  mate. 

"  Well  then,  Swanson,  let  us  get  those  sails 
up." 

Just  then  the  Captain  came  forward  saying, 
"  What  in  Hell  is  the  matter?  Why  don't  you 
get  those  sails  on  her?  " 

"  Captain,"  I  replied,  pointing  to  Swanson, 
"  this  man  did  not  quite  understand  me.  Hoist 
away  on  your  throat  and  peak  halyards." 

Up  went  the  foresail  as  if  by  magic,  then  the 
main  jib  and  inner  jib,  the  tug  boat  gave  three 
long  whistles,  signalling  "  let  go  your  hawser." 

I  heard  the  Captain  sing  out,  "  Mr.  Mate, 
up  with  your  mainsail  and  spanker." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

In  a  few  minutes  all  sail  was  set. 

The  Captain  gave  the  course  south  one-half 
west  and  went  down  below.  I  immediately  took 
my  departure,  and  entered  it  in  the  log  book. 
The  wind  was  free,  about  two  points  abaft  the 


OFF  FOK  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  7 

beam.  I  put  the  taff-rail  log  over  the  side  and 
settled  down  for  our  trip  to  the  sunny  south. 
As  it  was  getting  late  in  the  evening,  I  went 
forward  to  talk  to  the  second  mate  about  pick 
ing  our  watches. 

It  is  always  customary  for  the  mate  to  take 
the  ship  out,  and  the  captain  to  bring  her  home. 
This  meant  that  I  would  have  eight  hours  watch 
the  first  night  out.  The  mate  has  always  the 
privilege  of  choosing  the  first  man,  and  by  doing 
this  the  big  Swede  fell  to  the  second  mate. 
Because  I  was  sure  I  would  have  trouble  with 
him,  I  tossed  him  into  the  starboard  watch. 
After  the  watches  were  set,  and  the  wheel 
relieved,  I  heard  the  supper  bell  ring. 

As  I  was  hungry  I  made  for  the  cabin,  and 
took  a  seat  across  from  the  Captain.  Out  of 
the  pantry  came  the  Socialist  cook  with  two 
plates  of  soup. 

The  Captain  was  not  very  talkative,  thinking 
I  was  a  low-grade  mate,  since  I  was  minus  trunk 
and  bag.  The  cook  eyed  me  rather  curiously 
when  I  passed  up  the  onion  soup.  I  understood 
later  that  it  was  only  on  rare  occasions  he  ever 
gave  way  to  cooking  so  delicate  a  dish.  Should 


8  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

any  one  be  so  misguided  as  to  refuse  to  eat  it 
they  might  count  the  galley  their  enemy  forever. 
With  supper  over  I  went  on  deck  to  relieve  the 
second  mate.  He  looked  to  me  as  if  there  would 
be  no  trouble  between  him  and  the  cook  and 
onion  soup.  As  it  was  now  my  watch  from 
eight  to  twelve,  I  had  the  side  lights  lit  and  my 
watch  came  on  deck  to  relieve  the  wheel  and 
look-out. 

I  may  mention  here  some  of  the  sailors  in  my 
watch.  Well,  Broken-Nose  Pete  took  his  turn 
at  the  wheel,  and  One-Eyed  Riley  took  the  look 
out.  Then  there  was  Dago  Joe  and  a  Dane  by 
the  name  of  Nelson,  who  seemed  rather  quiet 
and  unassuming.  Also  Charlie  who  was  forever 
looking  up  at  the  clouds. 

The  wind  was  freshening  up  and  she  was  list 
ing  over  with  the  lee  rail  in  the  water.  I  went 
aft  to  take  a  look  at  the  log.  She  was  doing 
ten  knots  and  doing  it  easy.  "  Well,"  thought 
I,  "if  she  can  do  ten  with  lower  sails  and  top 
sails,  she  will  do  twelve  with  the  fisherman's 
staysails  on."  So  I  gave  the  order  to  bend  and 
hoist  away  and  no  sooner  were  they  set  and 
sheets  flattened  aft  than  she  began  to  feel  them. 


OFF  FOR  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  9 

It  seemed  that  those  staysails  were  all  that  were 
holding  her  back  to  show  me  she  was  worthy  of 
the  shark's  fin  on  the  flying  jib  boom.  The  Cap 
tain  was  walking  up  and  down  the  poop  deck 
smoking  a  cigar,  seemingly  in  good  humor  with 
his  new  mate.  As  I  was  going  aft,  I  noticed  that 
she  had  broached  to  somewhat.  She  seemed  to 
want  to  shake  herself  clear  of  all  her  canvas.  I 
ran  to  the  man  at  the  wheel :  "  What  in  Hell  is 
the  matter  with  you?  Can't  you  steer?  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  can  steer  very  well,  but  since  you 
put  those  staysails  on  her  I  can  hardly  hold  her 
in  the  water." 

"  Keep  her  on  her  course,"  I  warned  him,  tl  OP 
you  will  hear  from  me."  I  went  to  the  rail  to 
look  at  the  log.  It  was  getting  dark,  and  I  had 
to  strike  a  match  to  see.  Sure  enough,  she  was 
making  twelve  and  a  quarter. 

Just  then  the  Captain  came  up  and  told  me 
to  take  in  the  staysails,  as  she  was  laboring  too 
much.  I  was  going  to  protest,  but,  on  second 
thoughts,  I  bowed  to  the  ways  of  deep-water 
captains :  "  Obey  orders,  if  you  break  owners." 

"  Captain,  you  have  a  pretty  smart  little  ship 
here." 


10  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  She  passed  everything  on 
her  last  trip  to  Mayhew,  New  Caledonia,  but  one 
has  got  to  know  and  understand  her  to  get  the 
best  out  of  her." 

Right  here  I  knew  he  was  giving  me  a  dig  for 
daring  to  set  the  staysails  without  his  orders. 

Tossing  the  butt  of  his  cigar  overboard,  he 
started  to  go  below  saying  "  Call  me  if  the  wind 
freshens  up  or  changes.  But  call  me  at  eight 
bells  anyway." 

The  night  grew  brighter.  A  half  moon  was 
trying  to  fight  her  way  out  from  behind  a  cloud, 
ever-hopeful  of  throwing  her  silver  rays  on  the 
good  ship  "Wampa."  With  the  sound  of  the 
wash  on  the  prow,  and  the  easy  balanced  roll, 
with  occasional  spray  from  windward,  I  felt  that 
after  all  the  sea  was  the  place  for  me. 

Just  then  the  lookout  shouted,  "  Light  on  the 
starboard  bow,  sir." 

I  said,  "  All  right,"  and  reached  for  the  binoc 
ulars.  A  full  rigged  ship  was  approaching  on 
the  port  tack. 

"  Port  your  helm,  let  her  come  to."  When  we 
had  her  on  the  lee,  I  sang  out,  "  Steady  as  she 
goes." 


OFF  FOR  THE  SOUTH  SEAS     11 

As  we  passed  under  her  quarter,  what  a  beau 
tiful  living  thing  she  seemed  in  the  shadows  of 
the  night, —  and  in  my  dreaming  I  was  near  for 
getting  to  keep  our  ship  on  her  course  again. 
By  this  time  hunger,  that  familiar  genius  of 
those  who  walk  the  decks,  was  upon  me  again. 
Nothing  tastes  better  than  the  time-honored 
lunch  late  during  the  watches  at  night.  I  found 
for  myself  some  cold  meat,  bread  and  butter, 
and  coffee  in  the  pantry. 

I  called  the  second  mate  as  it  was  nearing 
eight  bells,  twelve  o'clock.  I  felt  tired  and 
sleepy  and  knew  that  nothing  short  of  a  hurri 
cane  would  awake  me  from  twelve  to  four. 

Up  on  deck  Dago  Joe  struck  eight  bells,  I  took 
the  distance  run  on  the  log,  and  was  turning 
around  to  go  down  and  call  the  Captain,  when 
Swanson  came  aft  to  relieve  the  wheel.  He 
looked  me  over  very  critically  and  muttered 
something  to  himself.  As  I  went  down  the  com 
panion  way  to  report  to  the  Old  Man,  I  saw  the 
Socialist  cook  standing  in  my  room. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Mate,  is  a  blanket  for  you.  I 
know  you  have  no  bedding." 

I  thanked  him  and  thought,  "  Well,  the  Social- 


12 

ist  cook  is  kind  and  observant  and  Socialism  is 
not  bad  after  all." 

I  called  the  Captain,  then  went  to  my  room  for 
a  well-earned  sleep. 


• 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  STORM  :  TATTERED  AND  TORN  BUT  STILL  ON 
THE  OCEAN 

Olsen,  the  second  mate,  called  me  at  four 
o'clock.  When  I  came  on  deck  the  sky  was 
overcast,  and  looked  like  rain.  From  the  log  I 
found  that  she  had  made  thirty-eight  miles  dur 
ing  the  middle  watch. 

"  If  she  keeps  this  up  for  forty-eight  hours,"  I 
thought,  "  we  shall  be  abreast  of  San  Francisco." 
She  could  not  travel  fast  enough  for  me,  going 
South,  for  with  only  one  suit  of  clothes  and  a 
Socialist  blanket,  latitude  46°  north  in  December 
was  no  place  for  me. 

The  cook  came  aft  with  a  mug  of  coffee  that 
had  the  kick  of  an  army  mule.  It  is  seldom  the 
cook  on  a  wind-jammer  ever  washes  the  coffee 
pot.  Pity  the  sailor,  forward  or  aft,  who  would 
criticize  the  cooking!  One  must  always  flatter 
the  pea-soup,  and  the  salt-horse,  and  particularly 
the  bread-pudding,  if  one  expects  any  considera 
tion. 

13 


14  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

The  Captain  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  com 
panion-way,  and  from  his  expression  I  knew  that 
he  was  minus  the  mocha.  "  How  is  the  wind?  " 
said  he. 

"  It  has  hauled  a  little  aft,  sir,  about  north 
west." 

"  Get  the  staysails  on  and  steer  south,"  and  he 
dived  below,  looking  for  the  cook,  I  suppose. 

I  went  forward  to  see  if  any  sails  needed 
sweating  up.  I  called  Broken-Nosed  Pete  and 
Riley  to  take  a  pull  on  the  main  boom  topinlif  t. 

"  Pete,  what  happened  to  your  nose?  " 

"  It  is  a  long  yarn,"  said  he,  "  and  some  night 
in  the  tropics  I  shall  spin  it." 

It  was  now  breaking  day.  The  cook  was  com 
ing  forward  to  the  galley,  singing  "  Shall  we 
always  work  for  wages?  "  Behind  him  strolled 
Toby,  the  big  black  cat,  who  seemed  very  much 
in  command  of  the  ship.  Seven  bells,  and  break 
fast,  some  of  the  same  beefsteak,  with  the  elastic 
ity  of  a  sling-shot,  and  other  trimmings. 

The  Captain  seemed  more  talkative.  "  I  under 
stand  that  we  are  bound  for  Suva,  Fiji  Islands," 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  and  I  expect  to  make  it  in  about  fifty 


THE  STORM  15 

days,  for  with  this  breeze  and  a  smooth  sea,  we 
shall  be  with  the  flying-fish  before  long." 

"  That  will  be  very  convenient  for  me,  Sir." 
( "  No,  no  more  coffee,  thank  you,  Steward." ) 

( "  Steward  "  is  more  appropriate  than  "  Cook," 
and  gives  him  a  dignity  befitting  his  position  in 
the  presence  of  officers,  while  forward  he  is 
pleased  to  be  called  "  Doctor."  But  that  title  is 
seldom  used,  as  it  depends  upon  the  good-nature 
of  the  crew. ) 

"  Warm  sailing  will  indeed  be  convenient  for 
you,"  said  the  Captain.  "  How  did  you  lose  your 
clothes?  Shipwrecked?  Here,  Steward,  take 
away  this  Bourbon  brand,"  (handing  him  the 
condensed  milk).  "I  see  the  flies  have  found 
it." 

"  No,  sir,  not  shipwrecked.  My  last  trip,  from 
Guaymas,  was  full  of  incidents,  especially  in  the 
Gulf  of  California.  It  took  us  six  days,  with 
light,  baffling  winds  and  thunder-storms,  to  make 
Cape  St.  Lucas.  While  we  were  rounding  the 
Cape,  lightning  struck  the  mizzen-top,  destroy 
ing  the  mutton-leg  spanker  and  setting  fire  to  the 
chafing  gear.  Luckily  for  us,  the  sails  were 
damp.  As  it  was  the  lightning  ran  forward  on 


16  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

the  tryatic  stay,  and  broke  our  forestay  at  the 
night-head." — 

"  Steward,"  interrupted  the  Captain  anxiously, 
"  don't  feed  Toby  too  much.  That  old  lime- 
juicer  that  was  lying  next  to  us  at  the  loading 
dock  was  alive  with  rats,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
we  have  our  share.  You  say,"  turning  to  me, 
"  that  the  forestay  was  carried  away?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  that  was  not  all.  When  she 
pitched  aft,  the  spring-stays  buckled,  and 
snapped  our  topmast  clean  out  of  her.  We  let 
all  the  halyards  go  by  the  run.  I  have  been 
going  to  sea  for  many  years,  but  never  have  I 
seen  a  mess  like  the  old  i  Koanoke.'  With  the 
topmast  hanging  in  the  cross-trees,  sails,  booms 
and  gaffs  swinging  all  over  the  deck,  she  looked 
as  if  she  had  been  through  a  hurricane.  But 
after  cutting  away  the  topmast  rigging,  and  let 
ting  the  topmast  go  by  the  run  (watching  the 
roll,  of  course,  so  that  they  would  be  sure  to 
clear  the  bulwark  rail),  we  got  a  ten-inch  haw 
ser  from  the  lazarette  to  replace  the  one  that  had 
been  carried  away.  With  the  deck  cleared,  and 
lower  sails  set,  she  was  able  to  lay  her  course 


THE  STORM  17 

again,  and  after  thirty-two  days  we  crippled  into 
port. 

"  While  lying  in  Bellingham,  our  port  of  dis 
charge,  I  wras  relating  my  experience  to  a  few 
old  salts,  men  with  whom  I  had  sailed  in  other 
seas.  There  happened  to  be  a  land-lubber  who 
questioned  my  story.  He  called  me  a  liar.  I 
said,  i  You  beat  it.'  He  reached  for  his  hip 
pocket.  Instantly  I  swung  for  his  jaw.  He 
wrent  down  and  I  walked  away.  Later  I  met  the 
night  policeman.  '  You  had  better  get  across 
the  line  till  this  blows  over,'  he  said.  '  The 
doctor  says  that  he  has  a  broken  jaw.' 

"  In  Vancouver  shipping  was  light,  so  I  took  a 
job  in  a  logging-camp  running  an  old  ship's 
donkey-engine  hauling  logs.  Wells,  the  logging 
company  went  broke,  and  I  with  them,  and  that 
is  my  reason  for  not  having  any  clothes." 

"What  became  of  the  man  with  the  broken 
jaw?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"  I  heard  that  he  bought  a  gas  motor  cycle ; 
they  were  new  in  the  East  then.  He  had  one 
shipped  to  Bellingham,  and  ran  it  without  a 
muffler.  It  made  such  a  noise  that  horses  ran 


18  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

away,  and  chickens  flew  about,  and  eventually 
the  townspeople  ran  him  out  of  town." 

It  was  now  past  eight  bells,  and  from  the  angry 
sound  of  Olsen's  feet  on  the  deck  above,  I  knew 
that  he  could  take  care  of  what  steak  was  left. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Captain,  "  that  reminds  me 
of  an  experience  I  once  had  on  the  '  Glory  of  the 
Seas,'  off  River  Plate.  Not  an  electrical  storm, 
but  worse,  a  squall  without  warning.  You  have 
to  relieve  Olsen  now,  so  I  will  finish  some  other 
time  in  your  watch  below." 

The  cook  was  in  the  pantry,  humming  his  fav 
orite  song,  omitting  the  words. 

It  was  my  watch  below,  but  I  remained  long 
enough  on  deck  for  Olsen  to  finish  his  breakfast. 
Away  towards  the  eastward  the  sky  was  blood 
red,  and  the  northwest  wind  was  dying  out.  If 
the  old  sailor's  adage  holds  good,  then  "  A  red 
sky  in  the  morning,  sailors  take  warning."  I 
had  been  familiar  with  those  signs  in  the  North 
ern  Pacific  for  years.  In  the  winter  time  it 
usually  meant  a  gale.  When  Olsen  returned,  I 
laid  out  the  work  to  be  done  during  the  fore 
noon.  "  Get  together  your  reef -earrings,  have 
your  halyards  coiled  down  ready  for  running,"  I 


THE  STORM  19 

said.     "  We    may    have    a    blow   before   long." 

"  Yaw/'  said  the  Dane,  "  I  don't  like  the  sky  to 
the  eastward." 

In  the  cabin,  the  Captain  was  sorting  over 
some  old  letters.  "  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  a  picture 
of  my  two  boys.  They  are  living  in  Berkeley. 
Their  mother  died  two  years  ago  while  I  was  in 
South  America.  The  doctor  said  it  was  T.  B." 
With  tears  in  his  eyes  he  said,  "  I  suppose  it  had 
to  be,  but  don't  you  know,  they  are  quite  happy. 
They  are  living  with  their  aunt.  Oh,  children 
forget  so  soon,  so  soon."  Picking  up  the  pic 
tures,  and  with  a  look  of  hatred  in  his  eyes  he 
said,  "  The  sea  is  no  place  for  a  married  man." 

At  seven  bells  I  came  on  deck  to  take  the  meri 
dian  altitude  of  the  sun.  It  was  now  partly 
cloudy,  and  hard  to  get  a  clear  horizon,  as  the 
sun  would  dive  in  and  out  from  behind  the  clouds. 
What  little  wind  there  was  came  from  the  south 
east. 

"  I  guess  we  shall  have  to  rely  on  your  dead 
reckoning,"  said  the  Captain,  "  the  barometer  is 
dropping,  and  it  looks  as  if  we  are  in  for  a 
gale." 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  it  commenced 


20  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

to  blow  from  the  southeast.  We  took  in  stay 
sails,  topsails  and  flying-jib.  She  was  close- 
hauled  and  headed  southwest.  In  the  first  dog 
watch  the  wind  increased. 

"  Call  all  hands,"  said  the  Captain,  "  we  must 
reef  her  down." 

The  spanker-boom  projected  over  the  stern 
about  twenty  feet.  It  was  no  easy  matter  reef 
ing  this  sail,  with  the  wind  and  sea  increasing 
and  her  shipping  an  occasional  sea.  There  was 
some  danger  of  one's  being  washed  overboard  and 
very  little  chance  of  saving  a  life.  But  now  was 
the  time  to  find  out  if  our  sailors  were  from  the 
old  school.  I  loved  the  storms,  and  the  wild  rag 
ing  seas  and  angry  skies, —  no  sea  gull  ever 
enjoyed  the  tempest  more  than  I. 

"  Here  you,  Johnson,  Nelson  and  Swanson,  lay 
out  on  the  boom,  haul  out  and  pass  your  reef- 
earring,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

Swanson  said :  "  I'll  not  go  out  there.  The 
foot-rope  is  too  short." 

"  By  God,  you'll  go  out  there  if  I  have  to  haul 
you  with  a  handy  billy." 

"  Yes,  damn  you,  get  out  there,"  roared  the 
Captain.  "You  call  yourself  a  sailor;  it  is  a 


THE  STORM  21 

beachcomber  you  are ! "  The  Captain  worked 
himself  into  a  rage.  "  By  Heavens,  we  will  make 
sailors  of  you  before  this  trip  is  over." 

Swanson  with  a  look  of  rage,  decided  that  an 
alternative  of  the  boom-end  with  an  occasional 
dip  into  the  raging  sea  underneath  and  elevation 
on  high  as  she  rolled,  was  much  preferable  to 
what  he  could  expect  should  he  refuse  to  obey 
orders.  With  the  spanker  and  mainsail  close- 
reefed  we  were  pretty  snug. 

"  If  the  wind  increases  it  will  be  necessary  to 
heave  her  to;  that  will  do;  the  watch  below," 
said  I. 

Old  Charlie  was  coiling  down  ropes.  "  Mr. 
Mate,  look  out  for  Swanson,  I  just  heard  him  say 
that  this  ship  is  too  small  for  you  and  him.  He 
is  very  disagreeable  in  the  foc'sle.  He  and  One- 
Eyed  Kiley  came  near  having  a  scrap  over  the 
sour  beans  at  noon  to-day." 

Three  hours  later  the  wind  increased  to  a  liv 
ing  gale.  Before  we  could  let  go  the  halyards  it 
blew  our  foresail  away. 

.  "  My  God,"  cried  the  Captain,  "  and  brand 
new.  Just  begged  my  owners  for  it.  Six  hun 
dred  dollars  gone  to  Hell !  Get  the  mainsail  and 


22  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

inner  jib  off  lively.  Heave  her  to  under  the  main 
jib."  Speaking  to  the  man  at  the  wheel :  "  Don't 
let  her  go  off,  damn  you,  let  her  come  to,  and  put 
your  wheel  in  'midships." 

Throughout  the  night  the  wind  kept  up,  with 
the  seas  battering  our  deckload,  until  there  was 
danger  of  having  it  washed  overboard.  But 
about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  it  abated  some. 
The  old  ship  had  the  expression  of  a  wet  water- 
tepaniel  coming  out  of  the  water  before  shaking 
himself.  Defiant  as  she  was  to  race  away  from 
storm  and  strife,  she  was  hopelessly  crippled  by 
the  mountainous  sea  that  was  trying  to  swallow 
her  up  in  its  angry  roll. 

"  Never  mind  about  anything,"  said  the  Cap 
tain,  "  get  the  damned  old  spare  foresail  up  any 
way,  we  will  have  to  patch  it  and  get  it  onto 
her.  Olsen,  how  do  the  stores  and  flour  look? 
Yes,  it  is  aft  on  the  port  side." 

"  The  rats  have  torn  two  sacks  of  flour  open, 
sir." 

"  Great  God,  have  they  gotten  in  there  already? 
Kun  and  get  Toby,  and  put  him  down  there,  I 
will  attend  to  the  lazarette  hatch  myself  from 
now  on." 


THE  STORM  23 

So  saying,  he  walked  to  the  rail  and  levelled 
his  glass  at  an  approaching  ship. 

Out  of  the  murky  horizon  loomed  up  the  U. 
S.  transport  "  Dix,"  with  troops  bound  for 
Manila  to  aid  in  the  capture  of  Aguinaldo.  As 
she  passed  us  to  windward  Old  Charlie  remarked, 
"  There  will  be  few  aboard  of  her  to  eat  break 
fast  this  morning,  the  way  she  pitches  and 
rolls." 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  the  Captain  was 
in  no  mood  for  comedy  this  particular  morning. 
With  the  loss  of  his  new  foresail,  and  rats  in  the 
flour,  and  worst  of  all  forgetting  to  wind  the 
chronometer,  a  fatal  result  of  his  preoccupation 
with  the  storm,  he  was  the  picture  of  a  man 
doomed  to  despair,  and  I,  for  one,  approached 
him  very  gingerly. 

With  a  look  of  disdain  at  Old  Charlie,  he  said, 
"  To  Hell  with  breakfast !  All  you  beachcombers 
think  of  is  eating.  Haul  the  gaff  to  windward. 
Bend  on  the  old  foresail,  or  we  shall  be  blown 
clear  across  to  Japan." 

Towards  noon  the  wind  let  up  a  little,  enough 
to  carry  lower  sails.  Even  with  a  heavy  sea  we 
were  able  to  make  five  and  one-half  knots,  but 


24  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

were  off  our  course  four  points,  as  the  wind  was 
still  south  southeast. 

"  Mr.  Mate,  the  Captain  wants  to  see  you." 

«  All  right,  Olsen." 

In  the  cabin  the  Captain  was  walking  in  a 
circle.  "  Damn  it  all,"  he  cried,  "  why  couldn't 
you  remind  me  to  wind  the  chronometer?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  one  on  board, 
sir." 

"Hell  and  damnation!  Go  to  sea  without  a 
chronometer?  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing !  " 
Swinging  his  arms  wildly  over  his  head,  he  said, 
"  Where  in  blazes  did  you  go  to  sea?  " 

"  Captain,"  said  I,  "  I  have  made  a  twenty- 
thousand  mile  trip  without  a  chronometer  with 
old  Captain  Sigelhorst  in  the  bark  "  Quickstep," 
not  so  long  ago.  We  can  surely  get  our  position 
from  a  passing  ship,  and  if  not,  we  can  make 
land,  say  off  San  Diego,  and  easily  correct  our 
position  for  Greenwich  time." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  damned  poor  business,  anyway." 

Just  then  we  were  interrupted  by  Olsen,  who 
reported  to  the  Captain  that  Swanson  was  sick 
and  refused  to  come  on  deck. 


CHAPTER  III 

BEECHAM'S  PILLS  ARE  WORTH  A  GUINEA  THOUGH 
THEY  COST  BUT  EIGHTEEN  PENCE 

In  those  days,  twenty  years  ago,  sailing  schoon 
ers  had  few  men  before  the  mast,  and  every  man 
was  called  upon  to  do  a  man's  work.  If  one  of 
the  crew  were  sick,  it  usually  caused  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  both  fore  and  aft.  In  bad  and  stormy 
weather  it  was  not  uncommon  for  the  old  and 
seasoned  sailor  to  play  sick,  provided  he  could 
get  away  with  it.  The  usual  symptom  was  lame 
back,  so  that  the  appetite  might  not  be  ques 
tioned.  When  the  ship  would  emerge  into  fine 
weather,  marvel  of  marvels,  the  sailor  would 
recover  in  a  moment. 

"Sick,  is  he?"  said  the  Captain,  and  pointed 
to  me,  saying :  "  Go  forward  and  see  what  the 
trouble  is." 

"  I  am  sure,"  I  replied,  "  that  he  will  be  on 
deck  before  long,  sir." 

"  All  I  have  in  the  medicine  chest  is  pills,  yes, 
damn  it,  pills,"  and  he  waved  me  forward. 

25 


26  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

In  the  forecastle  Swanson  was  lying  in  his 
bunk  with  the  blankets  pulled  up  over  his  head, 
sound  asleep,  and  beside  him,  lying  on  a  bench, 
was  all  that  remained  of  a  breakfast  piece  of 
hardtack,  and  a  large  bone,  with  teethmarks  in 
the  gristle. 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  if  he  is  getting  as  close 
to  the  bone  as  this,  he  can't  be  very  sick."  I 
awoke  him,  saying :  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
you,  Swanson?  Why  aren't  you  on  deck?  This 
is  not  your  watch  below." 

He  rolled  over  as  if  in  great  agony. 

"  Mr.  Mate,  I  ban  very  sick  man." 

"  Where  are  you  sick?" 

"  I  ban  sick  on  this  side,"  pointing  to  the  right 
side. 

"  Stick  out  your  tongue.  Yes,  indeed,  you  are 
a  very  sick  man.  Can't  eat,  I  suppose."  He 
answered  me  with  a  grunt  as  if  in  mortal  pain. 

I  went  aft  and  asked  the  Captain  for  a  few 
pills.  "  Give  me  five." 

"  Hell,  take  ten.     How  is  he?" 

"  I  will  have  him  on  deck  in  a  few  hours,  sir." 

After  Swanson  had  swallowed  the  last  pill  I 


PILLS  WORTH  A  GUINEA  27 

said,  "  You  are  feeling  much  easier  now,  aren't 
you?  Of  course,  this  treatment  will  relieve  you, 
but  only  temporarily.  I  am  positive  that  you 
have  a  very  bad  case  of  appendicitis." 

This  seemed  to  please  the  Swede  very  much. 
"  But,"  said  I,  "  it  is  very  unfortunate  that  we 
are  running  into  another  storm,  the  pitching  and 
rolling  of  the  ship  will  be  bad  for  you." 

He  looked  me  fair  in  the  eye,  saying,  "  Why?  " 

"  Well,  it  may  be  either  death  or  an  operation 
for  you  very  soon." 

"  I  tank  de  pain  go  down,"  pointing  to  his  hip. 

"  Yes,  Swanson,  that  is  the  most  pronounced 
symptom  of  all,"  I  said,  pathetically.  "  You  lie 
still  while  I  go  aft  and  see  what  kind  of  cutlery 
the  Captain  has." 

"  Captain,"  I  asked,  when  I  was  once  more  on 
deck,  "  what  kind  of  pills  were  those  that  you 
just  gave  me  for  Swanson?  " 

"  Beecham's  pills,  and  five  is  a  very  large  dose. 
I  have  had  them  by  me  for  years.  As  a  boy  I  was 
introduced  to  them  by  the  North  Sea  fishermen," 
he  proceeded  solemnly.  "  You  know  they  adver 
tise  them  on  the  sails  of  luggers,  smacks  and 


28  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

sloops,  in  fact,  wherever  you  look  in  the  North 
Sea,  Irish  Sea  or  English  Channel  you  can 
always  see  Beecham's  Pills  go  sailing  by." 

Towards  evening  the  weather  broke  clear  with 
the  wind  hauling  towards  the  northeast  and  east 
ward,  and  the  prospects  looked  good  for  better 
weather.  About  nine  o'clock  the  cook  came  run 
ning  aft,  crying,  "  Mr.  Mate,  Swanson  is  very 
sick,  and  the  crew  think  that  he  is  going  to  die." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him  now?"  said  I, 
very  coolly. 

"  He  has  terrible  cramps.  Kussian-Finn  John 
and  Broken-Nosed  Pete  have  all  they  can  do  to 
hold  him  in  the  bunk." 

"  You  go  to  the  galley,  steward,  and  get  a  quart 
of  warm  water.'  You  can  give  it  to  him  while 
John  and  Pete  hold  him,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  in  this  case  Kiley  will  be  glad  to  help.  Is 
that  he  groaning?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Steward,  trembling,  "  he  is  in 
terrible  agony." 

"  Have  you  given  him  anything  to  eat  for  sup 
per?" 

"  My  God,  yes,  he  has  gorged  himself  on  corned 
beef  and  cabbage." 


PILLS  WORTH  A  GUINEA  29 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  he  has  reason  to  roll  and 
groan." 

"  Get  that  hot  water,"  I  continued  aloud,  "  and 
be  quick  about  it.  If  anything  happens  to  him 
after  this  you  will  be  to  blame.  The  idea  of  feed 
ing  corned  beef  and  cabbage  to  a  man  with  a 
high  fever !  "  The  cook  waited  to  hear  no  more. 
All  I  could  see  was  the  dirty  apron  flying  for  the 
galley. 

The  Captain,  hearing  us  talking  from  the 
cabin,  shouted  out,  "  What  is  all  that  noise  up 
there?" 

"  Nothing  much,  sir ;  she  is  now  laying  her 
course  with  the  wind  free."  This  was  hoping  to 
distract  him  with  weather  conditions  from  ask 
ing  whom  I  dared  to  talk  with  on  the  poop  deck. 
Discipline  must  be  adhered  to  on  windjammers. 
Mates  and  second  mates  give  their  orders  in 
whispers,  but  never  loud  enough  to  awaken  His 
Majesty  the  Captain.  The  mates  are  held  in 
high  esteem  by  the  crew  when  they  see  the  Cap 
tain  conversing  with  them,  but  for  one  of  the 
crew  to  come  and  carry  on  a  conversation  with 
an  officer  when  he  is  aft  in  his  sacred  precinct, 
the  poop  deck,  is  considered  a  crime,  and  ranks 


30  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

almost  next  to  mutiny.  Evidently  he  thought 
that  I  was  giving  some  orders  to  the  crew,  for 
he  closed  the  porthole,  and  did  not  ask  me  the 
question. 

On  my  way  forward  to  see  how  the  steward 
was  getting  along  with  his  mission,  and  while 
abreast  the  forerigging,  Old  Charlie  tapped  me 
on  the  shoulder  and  pointed  toward  the  forecastle 
saying :  "  Mr.  Mate,  Swanson  is  a  very  sick  man. 
He  thinks  that  you  have  given  him  poison,  sir, 
and  " —  stepping  close  to  me,  "  I  feel  that  some 
thing  is  going  to  happen  on  this  ship." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that?  "  said  I. 

Pulling  his  old  hairy  cap  down  around  his 
ears,  and  settling  down  for  a  long  yarn,  he  said : 
"  In  the  winter  of  187'5  I  was  in  a  ship  off  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  We  lost  three  sailors  over 
board  — " 

"  I  am  in  a  hurry,  Charlie,  you  will  be  too 
long  — " 

"  I  have  had  queer  dreams  lately,  sir,"  he  inter 
rupted. 

"  Tell  me  some  other  time,"  said  I,  "  I  must 
see  the  Swede." 

Pown  in  the  forecastle  Kiley  was  comforting 


31 

Swanson  in  the  uncertain  language  of  the  sea, 
while  the  cook  held  his  head,  eyeing  me,  and  say 
ing  very  softly,  "  I  don't  think  that  it  is  the  cab 
bage,  sir." 

"  What  is  it  then,"  said  I,  "  I  only  gave  two 
grains  of  quinine  to  reduce  his  fever.  Stand 
back,  there,  so  that  I  can  get  a  look  at  him.  How 
are  you  now,  Swanson?"  As  I  said  this,  the 
words  of  the  advertisement  occurred  to  me, 
"  Beecham's  Pills  are  worth  a  guinea,  though 
they  cost  but  eighteen  pence." 

There  was  no  bluffing  with  the  Swede.  He  was 
sick  in  good  earnest  now.  "  I  think  I  ban  pois 
oned,  Mr.  Mate." 

"  No,  Swanson,  you  have  not  been  poisoned. 
You  must  be  operated  on,  and  at  once." 

"  Begob,  sir,"  said  Riley,  with  a  wink  at  me, 
"  and  sure  it  is  myself  that  knows  how  to  carve. 
I  will  be  after  helping  you,  sir." 

"  Thank  you,  Riley,  it  is  a  dirty  job,  and  I 
should  much  prefer  that  you  would  do  it." 

"  Let  me  up,"  yelled  the  Swede. 

"  Hold  him  down,  men,"  said  I.  "  You  know 
that  he  is  out  of  his  head  from  fever,  and  it  would 
be  dangerous  for  him  to  get  up  until  after  the 


32 

operation."  It  now  dawned  upon  Swanson  that 
I  was  in  earnest  about  the  operation.  For  a  one- 
eyed  Irishman  and  his  enemy  to  cut  a  hole  in  him 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  With  a  wild 
plunge  that  hurled  his  captors  to  right  and  left, 
he  jumped  from  his  bunk,  and  raced  for  his  life 
up  the  ladder  that  led  to  the  deck. 

Seven  bells  in  the  morning,  and  with  a  fine 
sailing  breeze,  we  were  leaving  behind  the  sleet 
and  storms  for  those  who  sail  the  northern  lati 
tudes. 

"  I  saw  Swanson  on  deck  this  morning,"  said 
the  Captain. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  is  better.  I  don't  think  that  we 
shall  have  any  more  trouble  from  him  in  that 
direction." 


CHAPTEE  IV 
OMENS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS  OF  OLD  CHARLIE 

Four  days  later  a  tramp  steamer  hove  in  sight. 
We  signaled  him,  and  asked  for  his  position. 
He  signaled  back,  giving  latitude  and  longitude. 
He  was  about  a  mile  to  the  eastward  of  us.  We 
set  and  wound  our  chronometer,  and  considered 
this  luck  indeed,  as  the  Captain  expressed  it. 
He  seemed  quite  happy,  and,  with  an  expression 
of  confidence  on  his  face,  remarked: 

"  Well,  we  are  all  right  again.  You  know  I 
was  very  much  worried  about  forgetting  to  wind 
the  chronometer.  I  have  been  master  for  four 
teen  years,  and  this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have 
neglected  to  do  it.  I  have  heard  from  old-timers 

that  it  is  considered  a  bad  omen." 

i 

"  I  don't  believe  in  any  such  superstitions," 
said  I. 

Here  he  called  to  the  cook,  who  was  throwing 
slop  overboard  from  the  galley:  "Have  you 
given  Toby  any  water  today?  " 

33 


34  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Yessir,"  said  the  cook,  and  cursed  a  large 
black  and  white  gull  for  eating  more  than  his 
share  of  the  scraps  that  were  floating  by.  "  Toby 
wants  for  nothing,  sir.  In  fact,  he  has  been 
getting  out  of  the  lazarette  lately." 

The  Captain  did  not  hear  this  last  remark. 
He  was  watching  the  remains  from  the  galley  to 
see  if  there  was  any  waste.  Old  sailors  say  they 
can  tell  how  ships  feed  by  the  number  of  gulls 
who  follow  in  her  wake. 

(Now  follow  some  extracts  from  my  diary, 
kept  during  a  portion  of  this  trip.) 

For  the  last  week  we  have  been  having  fine 
weather.  The  cook  and  crew  seem  to  be  very 
friendly.  I  notice  that  during  the  dog-watch 
from  six  to  eight  they  gather  around  the  main 
mast.  There  the  cook  has  a  barrel  in  which  he 
freshens  salt  meat.  In  this  watch  he  puts  it 
to  soak.  This  evening  he  must  have  been  carried 
away  with  his  subject,  for  he  was  talking  loudly 
and  very  excitedly,  exclaiming: 

"  That  is  it  exactly,  and  here  we  are.  What 
are  we  getting?  Nothing.  And  to  think  that 
we  are  the  slaves  of  the  owners  — " 


OMENS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS  35 

Some  one  interrupted,  I  believe  that  it  was  the 
Russian-Finn,  saying :  "  I'll  bet  they,"  meaning 
the  owners  of  our  ship,  "  don't  have  to  eat  this 
old  salt  horse  three  times  a  day." 

Riley  voiced  in  with :  "  Begorra,  and  it's  crame 
in  their  tay  they  are  having,  and  divil  a  thimble 
ful  do  we  get  here." 

This  last  expression  from  the  Irishman  pleased 
the  cook,  who  brought  his  fist  down  sharply  on 
the  pork-barrel,  crying :  "  And,  men,  your  only 
salvation  lies  in  the  ballot-box." 

The  cook's  ballot-box  amused  me.  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  sailor  voting?  Out  of  ten  of  our 
crew,  we  had  not  one  American  citizen ! 

Our  position  at  noon  today  was  17°. 24  north 
latitude,  —  longitude  142°. 10  west..  The  wind 
has  been  steady  from  the  northeast  for  the  last 
forty-eight  hours.  I  am  satisfied  that  this  is  the 
commencement  of  the  trade-winds. 

During  the  middle  watch  I  was  very  sleepy, 
and  decided  to  walk  on  the  deck  load  as  far  for 
ward  as  the  mainmast,  and  back  again,  and  so 
on.  I  noticed  one  of  the  crew  standing  against 
the  weather  main-rigging.  As  the  night  was 
dark,  I  could  not  make  him  out,  and,  remember- 


36 

ing  Old  Charlie  warning  about  the  big  Swede 
having  it  in  for  me,  I  stepped  over  to  the  fife  rail 
and  pulled  out  a  belaying-pin,  thinking  that  it 
might  come  in  handy  in  case  this  ghost-like  figure 
started  anything.  But  just  then  he  lit  his  pipe, 
and  from  the  rays  of  the  match  I  could  make 
out  the  features  of  Old  Charlie  himself. 

"  Charlie,"  I  said,  "  you  scared  me." 

"  I  have  been  standing  here  thinking,  sir. 
Have  you  noticed  the  Bo'sun  flying  low  lately, 
sir?  " 

The  "Bo'sun"  Old  Charlie  alluded  to  is  a 
tropical  bird,  snow-white  with  an  exquisite  tail, 
and  flies  very  fast  and  usually  very  high.  It  is 
a  common  tradition  among  sailors  that  this  beau 
tiful  bird  is  the  embodiment  of  the  souls  of 
drowned  sailors. 

"  No,  Charlie,"  said  I,  "  I  haven't  noticed 
them." 

Taking  a  puff  from  his  old  pipe,  and  button 
ing  his  overcoat  around  his  neck  as  if  expecting 
a  squall,  then  looking  around  the  horizon  to  make 
sure  that  we  would  not  be  interrupted  by  any 
wind-jammer : 


OMENS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS  37 

"  Yes,  sir,  at  noon  today  one  came  near  alight 
ing  on  the  end  of  the  jib-boom." 

"You  must  have  mistaken  it  for  a  sea-gull," 
said  I. 

"  No,  sir ;  it  was  no  sea-gull.  I  have  been  sail 
ing  the  seas  for  thirty-four  years,  and  I  have 
seen  and  heard  strange  things." 

"  Well,  suppose  it  did  light  on  the  jib-boom ;  it 
has  to  get  a  rest  sometimes." 

"  They  have  their  island  homes  and  never 
come  near  a  ship,  unless,"  speaking  very  softly, 
"  unless  some  one  is  going  to  die." 

"  Nonsense,  Charlie.  Surely  you  don't  believe 
in  such  foolishness." 

"  I  started  to  tell  you  some  time  back  about 
an  old  ship  I  was  in  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 
Maybe  you  remember  her,  she  was  called  '  The 
Mud  Puddler,'  and  Charlie  continued  with  a 
grin,  "  she  was  never  in  the  mud  while  I  was 
on  her." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  remember  her.  She  sailed 
from  Liverpool,  didn't  she?" 

"Yes,  sir;  that's  her;  four-masted  and  bark- 
rigged.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  we  left  Calcutta 


1-36430 


38  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

bound  for  Hamburg.  One  night,  off  the  Cape, 
it  was  my  lookout.  It  was  a  fine  night  with  a 
fresh  breeze,  and  we  were  ploughing  along  about 
eight  knots.  I  heard  two  bells  go  aft,  and  in 
that  ship  we  had  to  answer  all  bells  on  the 
foc's'le  head." 

"  Is  it  one  o'clock  so  soon?  "  thought  I. 

"  You  know,"  speaking  to  me,  "  where  the  fish- 
tackle  davit  is?  " 

"  I  know  where  it  should  be,"  said  I. 

"Well,  that  is  where  I  was  standing."  (A 
lookout  is  very  important  on  all  ships,  especially 
at  night,  when  they  see  a  light  or  a  sail  they 
report  to  the  officer  on  watch. )  "  As  I  was  in  a 
hurry  to  answer  the  bell,  not  wanting  the  mate 
to  think  I  was  napping,  I  rushed  to  ring  it,  and, 
standing  there,  sir,  was  a  man  I  had  never  seen !  " 

"  It  was  one  of  the  crew  playing  a  joke  on  you," 
said  I. 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Mate,  not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I 
knew  every  man  on  board  of  her,  sir,  and  this 
man  was  not  of  this  world.  He  had  a  pair  of 
Wellington  boots  on,  you  know  the  kind,  all 
leather,  to  just  below  the  knee." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  know  the  kind." 


OMENS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS  39 

"  He  also  had  a  sou'wester  with  a  neat-fit 
ting  peajacket.  And,  sir,  it  was  his  face  that 
frightened  me.  His  eyes  were  fiery,  his 
beard  was  dark  and  thick,  with  heavy,  bushy 
eyebrows." 

All  this  time  I  was  getting  very  much  inter 
ested  in  Old  Charlie's  story.  "What  did  you 
do?  What  did  you  say  to  him?  "  I  asked,  very 
impatiently. 

"  I  reached  in  front  of  him  to  answer  the  bell. 
He  spoke  very  mournfully,  saying :  i  You  shall 
have  a  visit  from  the  Bo'sun  tomorrow ; '  and  he 
instantly  disappeared  and  left  me  with  my  hand 
still  stretched  out  for  the  bell-rope."  .  .  . 

I  could  smell  the  smoke  from  a  cigar,  and 
knew  that  the  Captain  was  pacing  the  poop.  I 
walked  aft  slowly,  anxious  to  hear  what  hap 
pened  on  the  bark  "  Mud  Puddler."  Sure 
enough,  there  was  the  Captain,  walking  up  and 
down,  and  occasionally  glancing  at  the  compass. 
Evidently  the  ship  was  off  her  course  when  he 
came  up  from  the  cabin.  He  spoke  to  me  rather 
harshly,  saying :  "  Don't  let  these  fellows,"  point 
ing  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  "  steer  her  all  over 
the  ocean," 


40  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Very  well,  sir.  I  was  just  forward  seeing 
if  the  side-lights  were  burning  brightly." 

"  Well,  keep  your  eye  on  them,  they  are  not 
to  be  trusted  too  long.  And  by  the  way,  have 
the  second  mate  get  up  the  old  spare  sails  in  his 
morning  watch ;  we  have  some  roping  and  patch 
ing  to  do  before  we  bend  them.  They  are  all 
right  for  this  kind  of  weather.  This  breeze  will 
carry  us  near,  the  Equator." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  I  will  have  Olsen  get  them 
up." 

He  took  one  more  look  at  the  compass  and 
went  below.  I  went  to  the  binnacle  more  to  see 
the  time  than  the  compass.  I  was  surprised  to 
see  that  it  was  twenty  minutes  past  three.  I 
was  anxious  to  go  forward  and  have  Charlie  fin 
ish  his  story,  but,  seeing  a  light  in  the  Captain's 
room,  I  was  doomed  to  finish  the  watch  around 
the  man  at  the  wheel. 

My  rather  troubled  sleep  was  ended  by  a  rap 
at  the  door.  It  was  the  cook.  "  It  has  gone 
seven  bells.  Breakfast  will  be  ready  in  a  few 
minutes,  sir."  Dressing  was  easy  for  me.  In 
fact,  all  it  required  was  wrashing  and  putting  on 
my  cap,  for  in  the  tropics  one  has  little  use 


OMENS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS  41 

for  clothes,  which  was  indeed  fortunate  for  me. 

"  Steward,"  said  I,  as  I  perfected  my  toilet, 
"  what  have  you  for  breakfast  this  morning?  " 
He  hesitated  before  answering,  and  well  I  knew 
what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  "  How  does  he 
dare  to  ask  me  what  I  am  going  to  have  for 
breakfast!  I  who  have  befriended  him.  What 
have  I  for  breakfast  indeed !  " 

"  Tongues  and  sounds,"  said  the  Emancipator, 
very  sharply. 

"A  breakfast  fit  for  a  king,"  I  replied  cheer 
fully. 

The  word  "  king  "  was  a  red  flag  to  a  bull  to 
him.  The  presence  of  the  Captain  coming  down 
the  companion-way  was  all  that  saved  me  from 
the  fate  of  all  reigning  monarchs.' 

Tongues  and  sounds  of  the  Alaska  codfish  come 
pickled  in  brine  and  packed  in  firkins,  and  are 
sold  principally  to  marine  shipping.  All  that  is 
required  in  the  process  of  cooking  is  to  freshen 
them  overnight,  boil  and  serve  with  drawn  but 
ter.  They  are  an  enviable  breakfast  delicacy  on 
land  and  sea. 

The  cook,  although  upset  by  my  reference  to 
kings,  lost  none  of  the  dignity  of  serving  the 


42  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

byproduct  of  the  Alaska  cod.  The  Captain  had 
little  to  say  during  the  morning  meal,  and 
seemed  worried  about  something. 

On  my  leaving  the  table  he  remarked :  "  Get 
your  palm  and  needle.  I  want  you  to  work  with 
me  on  the  spare  sails,  they  are  in  bad  shape." 

The  spare  sails  were  indeed  much  in  need  of 
repair.  Where  they  were  not  worn  threadbare, 
they  had  been  chewed  by  the  rats.  While  we 
were  sitting  side  by  side  sewing,  this  afternoon, 
we  talked  of  many  things  —  ships  and  shipping, 
and  foreign  ports. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  "  that  trip  that  took 
me  to  South  America  when  my  wife  died  was 
going  to  be  my  last  trip."  He  stopped  sewing. 
"You  see,  she  would  never  complain  of  being 
sick.  Of  course,  I  was  away  most  of  the  time, 
spending  about  two  weeks  a  year  at  home  with 
her  and  the  children.  It  was  while  I  was  home 
that  trip,  that  I  noticed  how  poorly  she  looked, 
and  that  cough,  and  realized  how  much  she  must 
have  suffered.  The  doctor  told  me  she  might 
live  for  years  with  proper  care  and  right  climatic 
conditions.  She  and  I  talked  it  over  and  decided 
that  on  my  return  trip  I  would  give  up  the  sea 


OMENS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS  43 

for  good,  and  devote  my  time  to  her  and  the 
children  on  a  farm  in  Southern  California. 
When  I  returned  from  Valparaiso  and  found  that 
poor  Bertha  was  dead,  and  the  boys  living  with 
their  aunt,  it  was  more  than  I  could  stand." 

With  tears  streaming  from  his  eyes,  uncon 
scious  of  the  vast  Pacific,  the  ship  he  was  in,  or 
even  the  crew  around  him,  he  murmured  softly 
to  himself: 

"  My  wife,  my  wife, —  gone,  gone."  In  this 
intense  moment  a  ball  of  sewing  twine  rolled 
from  his  knee,  and,  reaching  for  it,  he  said :  "  Do 
you  know  that  sometimes  I  think  she  is  with 
me." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SHARK  —  "  To  HELL  WITH  SHARK  AND 
SHIP  " 

I  was  so  overcome  by  the  Captain's  tears  and 
his  great  love  for  his  deceased  wife,  that  I  failed 
to  hear  Old  Charlie  calling  me  from  the  wheel 
until  he  attracted  my  attention  by  pointing  over 
the  stern. 

"  What  is  wrong?  "  I  asked,  thinking  that  per 
haps  the  log  line  had  carried  away. 

"  A  black  fin  on  the  starboard  quarter,  sir." 

"What  is  that?"  said  the  Captain,  throwing 
the  sail  aside  and  walking  aft. 

"  It  is  a  shark,  sir,"  said  I,  "  and  a  black  one." 

Instantly  all  love  and  human  kindliness  left 
him.  Jumping  down  onto  the  poop  deck  and 
looking  over  the  rail. 

"  By  Heavens,  you  are  right,"  he  cried,  "  he 
must  be  twenty  feet  long.  Kun  to  the  pork  bar 
rel  and  get  a  chunk  of  meat  while  I  get  the  shark 
hook." 

44 


THE  SHARK  45 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir."  In  the  excitement  it  did  not 
take  me  long  to  reach  the  cook's  salt  pork  barrel, 
and  grabbing  about  ten  pounds  of  salt  horse  I 
was  aft  again  in  a  minute.  The  Captain  was 
bending  a  three-inch  rope  into  a  swivel  on  a 
chain.  The  chain  is  about  six  feet  from  the 
hook.  When  the  shark  comes  down  with  his  six 
rows  of  teeth  on  each  jaw,  it  takes  more  than 
manila  rope  to  stop  him,  hence  the  quarter-inch 
chain. 

The  Captain  was  very  much  excited.  "  Here, 
damn  it.  No,  lie  will  nibble  it  off  the  hook  if  you 
put  it  there.  That  is  it.  The  center.  Now  over 
the  side  with  it.  Slack  away  on  your  line  there. 
That  is  enough.  Make  fast." 

"  All  fast,  sir,"  said  I. 

In  our  excitement  of  the  morning  we  had  for 
gotten  to  take  our  observation  for  latitude.  It 
was  now  past  eight  bells  with  the  cook  ringing 
the  bell  for  dinner.  The  black  fin  was  swimming 
around  the  salt  horse,  and  it  was  easy  to  decide 
between  them. 

"  By  God,  there,"  pointing  astern,  "  is  another 
one,"  said  the  Captain.  "  Why  in  blazes  don't 
he  take  the  bait?  " 


46  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  The  big  black  fin 
turned  over  on  his  back  and  swallowed  meat  and 
hook,  then  righting  himself  and  feeling  grateful 
for  so  small  a  morsel,  and  starting  to  swim  away, 
he  found  that  he  was  fast  to  the  end  of  a  rope. 

No  one  realized  it  more  than  the  Captain. 
With  a  shout  that  could  be  heard  all  over  the 
schooner :  "  Lay  aft,  all  hands,"  he  cried,  "  and 
lend  a  hand  to  pull  in  this  black  cannibal." 

With  all  hands  aft,  including  the  cook, —  his 
presence  is  always  needed  in  emergencies  like 
this, —  "  Get  that  boom  tackle  from  off  the  main 
boom,"  he  continued,  "  and  you,"  pointing  to 
Olsen,  "  get  a  strop  from  the  lazarette  and  fasten 
it  up  in  the  mizzen-rigging." 

"  If  I  go  down  there,"  said  Olsen,  pointing  to 
the  lazarette  hatch,  "  the  cat  may  get  out." 

"To  Hell  with  the  cat,"  said  the  Captain, 
"  this  is  no  time  to  stand  on  technicalities.  Get 
the  strop  and  get  it  up  damned  lively." 

Meantime  the  cook  forgot  that  he  was  the  hum 
ble  dispenser  of  salt  horse  and  pea  soup.  He  who 
had  fought  the  land  sharks  for  years,  he  who  had 
stood  hour  after  hour  in  the  sweltering  sun 
declaiming  against  the  crimps  and  other  para- 


THE  SHARK  47 

sites  of  the  Barbary  coast,  was  it  not  befitting 
that  he  should  lead  the  charge  on  this  black  mon 
ster  of  the  deep? 

The  Ballot-Box  Cook,  for  this  is  the  name  I 
gave  him,  was  standing  abaft  the  mizzen-rigging, 
with  unkempt  iron-gray  hair  waving  in  the  wind, 
a  greasy  apron,  and  bare  feet.  His  large  red 
nose  had  never  lost  any  of  its  cherry  color,  as 
one  would  expect  it  to,  under  the  bleaching 
influence  of  long  voyages.  His  large  supply  of 
extract  of  lemon,  with  its  sixty  per  cent  of 
alcohol,  is  not  to  be  deprecated  in  these  times, 
when  diluted  to  a  nicety  with  water  and  sugar. 

On  this  particular  day  he  had  not  neglected 
his  midday  tonic.  Tucking  his  dirty  apron  into 
the  belt  that  supported  his  overalls,  and  jump 
ing  down  from  the  deckload  to  the  poop  deck,  he 
exclaimed  with  the  wildest  gestures : 

"  Holy  Moses,  men,  don't  let  him  get  away." 

From  the  way  that  the  shark  was  thrashing 
and  beating  the  water,  one  would  think  that  the 
three-inch  rope  would  part  from  the  strain  at 
any  minute. 

"  Stop  the  ship !  "  cried  the  cook. 

"  Stop  hell,"  retorted  the  Captain. 


48 

"  You  will  never  land  him/'  insisted  the  cook ; 
"  she  has  too  much  bloody  way  on  her." 

"  I'll  attend  to  this  ship ;  I  am  master  here," 
said  the  Captain  angrily. 

"  Master,  you  are?  "  here  discipline  between 
master  and  cook  was  fused  away  into  the  north 
east  trades.  The  cook,  coming  to  attention  with 
all  the.  dignity  of  a  newly -made  corporal,  said: 
"  Captain,  I'll  have  you  understand  that  I  have 
no  masters,  and  " —  shaking  his  fist  at  the  Cap 
tain,  and  slapping  himself  on  the  breast,  "  do 
you  think  that  I  have  always  been  a  sea-cook?  " 

Under  other  conditions  the  Captain  would  have 
had  him  put  in  irons,  but  there  was  now  too 
much  at  stake  for  him  to  even  think  of  such  a 
thing.  For  is  not  time  the  essence  of  all  things? 
With  this  demon  of  the  sea  dangling  on  the  end 
of  a  sixty-foot  line,  every  minute  seemed  a  cen 
tury  with  the  chance  that  hook,  meat  and  line 
might  sail  away  into  fathomless  depths. 

"  Get  to  Hell  forward  to  your  galley !  I  will 
send  for  you  when  I  need  you  "  — Here  the  cook, 
with  rage  interrupted: 

"  To  Hell  with  you,  shark  and  ship !  The 
American  Consul  shall  hear  about  this !  "  With 


THE  SHARK  49 

this  parting  shot  he  slouched  forward  to  the 
galley. 

"  Here,  damn  you,  here,"  continued  the  Cap 
tain,  forgetting  him  on  the  instant.  "  Here,  you, 
Nelson,  put  a  sheep-shank  in  the  shark-line  — 
now  hook  your  block  in.  That's  the  way.  Hoist 
away  on  your  tackle."  After  giving  these  orders 
he  hopped  up  on  the  deck-load  to  direct  the  course 
of  the  incoming  shark.  With  the  crew  pulling 
all  their  might,  we  could  not  get  him  in  an  inch. 

"  If  we  wait  a  little  while,  Captain,"  said 
Olsen,  "  he  may  drown." 

"  Drown  be  damned,  who  ever  heard  of  a  shark 
drowning?  Get  a  snatch-block,  hook  it  into  the 
deck-lashing,  take  a  line  forward,  and  heave  him 
in  with  the  capstan." 

Leaving  the  second  mate  with  the  crew  to  heave 
in  the  shark,  I  walked  aft  to  join  the  Captain. 
While  passing  the  galley  I  could  hear  the  cook 
singing,  "  Marchons,  marchons," —  I  knew  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  interrupt  him. 

After  heaving  about  twenty  minutes  the  shark 
was  alongside  with  the  head  about  three  feet  out 
of  water. 

"  Belay !  "  roared  the  Captain,  "  come  aft,  here, 


50  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

a  couple  of  you.  Slip  a  running  bowline  over 
his  head,  we  must  not  lose  him.  That  is  the 
way.  Take  a  turn  around  the  mast.  All  right 
aft.  Heave  away  on  your  capstan." 

As  the  enemy  of  every  sailor  who  sails  the  seas 
came  alongside,  with  him  came  the  strains  of 
the  old  capstan  chantey : 

' '  Sally  Brown,  I  love  your  daughter, 

Heave,  ho,  roll  and  go, 
For  seven  long  years  I  courted  Sally, 

I  spent  my  money  on  Sally  Brown. ' ' 

Before  the  second  verse  of  the  aged  Sally  was 
finished,  Black  Fin  was  ours  to  do  and  dare. 

"  Make  fast  forward,"  shouted  the  Captain, 
"  and  bring  your  capstan  bars  aft.  One  of  you 
get  the  crowbar  from  the  donkey-room." 

If  there  is  anything  in  this  world  that  a  sailor 
loves,  it  is  to  kill  a  shark.  We  secured  him 
safely  on  the  deckload,  for  they  are  not  to  be 
trusted  out  of  water,  especially  if  one  gets  too 
near  to  the  head  or  tail.  This  monster  measured 
seventeen  feet,  six  inches.  With  capstan  bars, 
crowbar  and  sharp  knives  it  didn't  take  long  to 
take  the  fight  out  of  him. 


THE  SHARK  51 

After  being  cut  up,  the  choice  parts  were  given 
to  members  of  the  crew,  such  as  the  backbone  for 
a  walking-stick,  the  gall  for  cleaning  shoes  and 
so  forth.  The  eyeballs,  when  properly  cured  in 
the  sunlight  resemble  oyster  pearls.  I  took  the 
most  coveted  part,  the  jaw,  and  when  it  was 
opened,  it  measured  twenty-two  inches.  The 
Captain  ordered  what  was  left  of  him  thrown 
overboard,  and  turning  to  me  said,  "  Have  the 
steward  serve  dinner." 

"  How  about  the  other  shark,  sir?  " 
"  Oh,  we  will  leave  him  until  after  we  eat." 
After  dinner  there  was  no  shark  to  be  seen. 
"  We  have  made  a  sad  mistake,"  lamented  the 
Captain.     "  We  should  not  have  thrown  the  first 
shark  overboard.     By  doing  that  we  have  fed 
him  to  the  second." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TIN-PLATE  FIGHT  —  ONE-EYED  KILEY 
TRIUMPHS 

It  was  my  watch  below,  and  only  one  hour 
and  a  half  left  to  sleep.  Taking  off  my  cap,  I 
hopped  into  the  bunk,  and  was  just  dozing  off  to 
sleep  when  the  Cook  opened  the  door  saying: 
"  Have  you  anything  to  read?  " 

"  !No,  I  have  not,"  I  replied,  impatiently. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  unheeding,  "  I  wish  you  would 
read  this  book.  It  is  '  The  Superman,'  by 
Nietzsche.  I  also  want  you  to  read  Karl  Marx, 
in  three  volumes.  Then  you  will  understand 
why  I  hate  sharks  and  masters."  •  With  the  last 
remark  he  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  watch  from  eight  to  twelve  was  wonder 
fully  fascinating,  and  full  of  romance.  A  full 
moon  hung  in  the  clear  tropical  sky.  The  waters 
rippled,  and  the  Southern  Cross  glimmered  in 
the  distant  horizon.  Occasionally  a  block  or 
boom  squeaked,  as  if  to  say,  "  I,  too,  lend 
enchantment  to  the  night." 

52 


THE  TIN-PLATE  FIGHT  53 

At  ten-thirty  the  light  went  out  in  the  Cap 
tain's  room.  I  knew  that,  tired  by  the  excite 
ment  of  the  day,  it  would  not  be  long  before  he" 
would  be  asleep.  With  instructions  to  the  wheel 
man  to  keep  her  on  her  course,  I  went  forward 
to  see  Old  Charlie,  and  hear  from  him  what  hap 
pened  next  aboard  the  bark  "  Mud  Puddler." 

"  As  I  was  saying  last  night,  there  I  stood  with 
my  hand  stretched  out  to  ring  the  bell,  and,  sir, 
I  could  not  move  a  muscle." 

"  Charlie,"  said  I,  "  you  were  just  dozing  and 
dreaming,  and  thought  that  you  heard  the  bell 
aft." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,  not  at  all.  For  the  mate  came 
forward  cursing  and  swearing  and  telling  me 
that  if  I  slept  again  on  watch  he  would  dock  me 
a  month's  pay.  I  have  sailed  under  flags  of 
many  nations,  sir,  and  never  have  I  been  caught 
dozing  at  the  wheel  or  on  the  lookout." 

"  What  about  the  Flying  Bo'sun,  did  he  visit 
your  ship?  " 

Old  Charlie  was  too  solemn  for  one  to  think 
lightly  of  his  story. 

"Wait,  sir,  don't  go  too  fast.  At  breakfast 
the  next  morning  I  was  telling  my  shipmates 


54 

about  the  strange  man  on  the  foc's'le.  In 
describing  how  he  looked  and  the  clothes  he  wore, 
one  old  sailor  seemed  much  interested. 

"  You  say  he  wore  Wellington  boots  and  a  pea- 
jacket?  What  color  did  you  say  his  beard  was?  " 

"  Black  and  bushy,"  said  I. 

"  That's  very  strange,  very  strange,"  said  the 
old  sailor. 

One  member  of  the  crew  laughed  at  the  old 
man's  last  remark,  and  said:  "What  is  strange 
about  it?  One  would  really  believe  that  you 
thought  that  Charlie  was  awake.  Ha,  ha,  the 
joke  is  on  you." 

Old  John,  for  that  was  his  name,  pushed  his 
hook-pot  and  plate  over  on  the  bench  and  rising 
very  slowly  to  his  feet  said,  "  Shipmates,  I  am 
sixty -two  years  old.  I  have  sailed  the  seas  since 
I  was  fourteen.  I  want  to  say  that  the  appari 
tion  that  Charlie  saw  last  night  is  not  a  joke, 
but  a  stern  reality,  and,  shipmates,  some  one  of 
us  is  going  on  the  Long  Voyage." 

Here  Charlie  stopped  to  fill  and  light  his  pipe. 

"What  happened  next?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,  sir,  in  the  afternoon  watch  I  was  out  on 
the  jib-boom  reeving  off  a  new  jib  downhaul,  and, 


THE  TIN-PLATE  FIGHT  55 

sir,  as  true  as  I  stand  here,  there,  almost  within 
arm's  length,  sat  the  Flying  Bo'sun.  Three  days 
later  we  ran  into  a  storm  off  the  Cape, —  you 
know  the  short,  choppy,  ugly  sea  we  get  off  there? 
It  was  during  this  storm  that  we  lost  three  men, 
and  one  of  them  was  old  Sailor  John.  So  you 
see  I  have  reason  to  believe  in  coming  disaster. 
With  the  Bo'sun  waiting  to  alight,  and  sharks 
following  the  ship,  I  tell  you  that  something  is 
going  to  happen  soon." 

As  Charlie  finished  his  story,  the  man  at  the 
wheel  struck  one  bell,  a  quarter  to  twelve.  It  is 
always  customary  to  give  the  crew  fifteen  min 
utes  for  dressing,  that  when  eight  bells  is  rung 
the  watcher  may  be  promptly  relieved.  I  called 
the  second  mate,  got  a  sandwich,  and  went  on 
deck  again  to  take  the  distance  run  by  the  log. 

While  I  was  waiting  for  Olsen  to  relieve  me 
Old  Charlie  came  running  aft.  "  They  are  kill 
ing  each  other  in  the  foc's'le,  sir." 

"  Who  is  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  One-Eyed  Riley  and  Swanson,  sir." 

"  Who  is  getting  the  best  of  it?  " 

"  Swanson,  sir.  He  has  Riley  down,  and  is 
beating  him  over  the  head  with  a  tin  plate." 


56  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Looking  down  into  the  forecastle  I  could  see 
Swanson  stretched  out  with  Riley  standing  over 
him,  a  marline-spike  in  his  hand,  cursing  and 
swearing. 

"  Bad  luck  to  you  for  a  big  squarehead.  It's 
trying  to  tear  me  good  eye  out,  you  are.  Mother 
of  God,  look  at  me  tin  plate  that  he  bate  me 
with,  it  is  all  crumbled  in.  Sure  and  I  can't  use 
that  agin,  and  divil  another  this  side  of  San 
Francisco." 

"  Eiley,"  said  I,  "  have  you  killed  this  man?  " 

"  Begorra,  sir,  me  intintions  was  well-meanin'. 
I  broke  me  spike  on  him." 

"  Turn  him  over,"  I  commanded,  "  and  see  if 
there  is  any  life  in  him." 

"  Now,  throw  some  water  on  him." 

"  The  divil  a  drop  will  I  throw  on  him,  sir,  but 
if  you  will  say  the  word,  I'll  pitch  him  into  the 
sea." 

In  a  few  minutes  Swanson  came  to,  terribly 
bruised  about  the  head,  and  no  more  fight  in 
him. 

"  Riley,"  said  I,  "  you  beat  this  man,  now  you 
must  bandage  him  up  and  take  care  of  him." 

"Ah,  sure,  sir;  it's  murdher  you'd  be  after 


THE  TIN-PLATE  FIGHT  57 

wantin'  me  to  do  and  it's  bandage  him  up  you 
want.  Heavenly  Father,  with  me  new  tin  plate 
all  spoiled,  what  in  the  divil  am  I  going  to  ate 
off  of?" 

"  Eight  bells !  "  sang  out  the  man  on  the  look 
out.  It  was  Swanson's  lookout  watch,  and  the 
Finn's  wheel. 

"  Riley,  you  will  have  to  keep  the  Swede's  look 
out  this  watch.  He  is  dazed  and  stupid  from  the 
beating  you  gave  him.  There  is  danger  of  him 
walking  overboard." 

Swanson  crawled  over  to  the  bench  as  if  in 
terrible  pain,  muttering :  "  I  will  get  this  Irish 
dog,  and  when  I  do,  look  out,  I  will  kill  him." 

The  other  members  of  the  watch  below  were 
too  busy  dressing  to  pay  much  attention  to  the 
fight,  but  one  could  see  that  they  were  proud  of 
Riley's  work. 

"  Ha,  ha,  an'  it's  kill  me  you  would,  me  fine 
bucko,  an'  sure  you  might  if  I  had  no  eyes  in  me 
head.  You  dirty  baste.  Let  me  finish  him,  sir." 

"  Riley/'  said  I,  severely,  "  get  up  on  deck,  and 
relieve  the  man  on  the  lookout,  or  I  will  place 
you  both  in  irons." 

Riley  went  on  duty  very  reluctantly,  saying, 


58  .     THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Begorra,  sir,  and  it's  sorry  you'll  be  for  not  let 
ting  me  finish  him." 

"  Swanson,"  I  said,  "  you  will  be  all  right  in 
the  morning.  You  have  a  few  bad  bumps  on 
your  head,  but  a  hard  and  tough  man  like  you 
should  not  mind  that. 

I  left  him  grumbling  and  whining  and  swear 
ing  vengeance,  saying  to  himself :  "  By  Jiminy,  I 
get  even  mit  dem  all." 

On  the  forecastle  head  Kiley  was  pacing  up 
and  down,  evidently  very  happy  and  pleased  with 
the  night's  work.  He  was  humming  an  old  ditty, 
and  sometimes  breaking  out  singing: 

"Blow  you  winds  while  sails  are  spreading, 

Carry  me  cheerily  o  'er  the  sea. 
I'll  go  back,  de  dom,  de  dido, 

To  my  sweetheart  in  the  old  countree." 

In  the  cabin  the  Captain  was  looking  through 
the  nautical  almanack  to  find  a  star  that  was 
crossing  our  meridian. 

"  You  know,"  speaking  to  me,  "  we  must  not 
allow  sharks  nor  anything  else  to  interfere  with 
the  progress  of  the  ship.  I  want  to  cross  the 
Equator  about  in  150°  west.  I  believe  that  I 


THE  TIN-PLATE  FIGHT  59 

shall  have  to  keep  her  a  little  to  the  westward 
now.  Ah,  here  I  have  it,  the  star  Draconis,  it 
crosses  our  meridian  at  1  hr.  15  min.  Just  give 
me  your  latitude  by  dead  reckoning." 

"  Here  you  are,  sir,"  handing  him  the  latitude. 
"With  this  moderate  breeze  she  has  made  110 
miles  since  noon  today." 

"  It  looks,"  said  he,  "  as  if  she  were  going  to 
beat  her  last  trip  to  the  Equator.  But,  of  course, 
there's  the  doldrums.  One  can  never  tell. 
Sometimes  a  ship  will  run  through  and  into  the 
southeast  trades,  and  escape  the  doldrums.  But 
that  seldom  happens  to  me." 

The  next  few  days  were  spent  sewing  sails, 
the  crew  rattling  her  down,  cleaning  brass-work 
and  chipping  iron  rust  from  the  anchor  chain. 
A  ship  is  like  a  farm,  there  is  always  work  to  be 
done,  and  a  sailor  must  never  be  idle.  It  is  the 
mate's  duty  to  find  work  to  keep  them  going. 
A  mate's  ability  is  usually  measured  by  the 
amount  of  work  that  he  gets  out  of  the  crew, 
especially  when  she  sails  into  her  home  port. 

There  the  owners  come  aboard,  and  if  they 
do  not  wring  their  hands,  and  tear  their  hair, 
and  sometimes  tramp  on  their  hats  or  caps,  the 


60  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

mate  is  indeed  to  be  complimented.  They  will 
sometimes  walk  up  to  you  and  say : 

"  Well,  you  had  a  fine  voyage,  I  see,"  looking 
around  at  the  masts,  and  yards,  and  paint-work. 
"  Do  you  smoke?  Here  is  a  very  fine  cigar,  three 
for  a  dollar."  (More  often  it  is  three  for  ten 
cents. ) 

I  remember  the  old  barque  "  Jinney  Thomp 
son."  We  were  three  weeks  overdue.  When 
we  finally  arrived  the  owner  was  there  on  the 
dock  and  fired  every  man  aboard  her.  It  seems 
that  every  day  for  three  weeks  he  had  never  failed 
to  make  his  appearance  at  the  wharf.  On  this 
day  while  the  tug-boat  was  docking  us  there  he 
stood,  white  with  rage. 

"  Get  off  my  ship,  you  damned  pirates,  every 
man,  woman  and  child  of  you !  To  think  that  I 
should  have  lost  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
on  this  trip.  Get  off,  damn  you,  get  off !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 
IN  WHICH  THE  CAPTAIN  WOUNDS  His  HAND 

"  No,  sir,  he  won't  stay  down  there,"  said  the 
cook.  "  He  caught  a  flying-fish  the  other  night ; 
it  lit  on  the  deck  forward.  Since  then  he  just 
sits  in  the  main  rigging  watching.  When  I  get 
near  him  he  runs  up  aloft." 

"  I  must  tell  the  mate,"  said  the  Captain,  "  to 
move  the  flour  into  the  spare  room.  Those 
damned  rats  will  eat  us  out  yet.  Why  don't  you 
tie  Toby  with  the  stores?" 

"  I  can't,  sir,  he  won't  let  me  near  enough." 

This  conversation  was  going  on  in  the  cabin 
while  I  was  trying  to  read  Henry  George.  I 
went  to  sleep  wondering  how  a  single  tax  could 
be  applied  to  city  property.  I  was  not  asleep 
long  before  I  was  awakened  by  loud  tapping  on 
my  door.  "  Come  in,"  said  I.  The  door  opened. 
There  stood  the  Captain,  pale  and  excited. 

"  Would  you  mind  tying  up  this  hand  for  me? 
I  stuck  a  marline  spike  through  here,"  pointing 

61 


62  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

to  the  fleshy  part  between  the  thumb  and  fore 
finger  of  the  right  hand. 

"  Just  one  minute,  sir,  I'll  get  some  hot  water." 

Fortunately  there  was  hot  water  in  the  galley. 

"  There  you  are,  sir,  put  your  hand  in  the 
bucket.  No,  it  is  not  too  hot.  There,  see,  I  hold 
my  hand  in  it." 

Satisfied  that  there  was  no  danger  of  cook 
ing  it,  he  pulled  the  rag  off,  and  thrust  his  hand 
into  the  bucket.  I  noticed  that  there  was  no 
blood  to  speak  of.  I  said,  "  Captain,  did  the 
spike  go  through  your  hand?  " 

"  Hell,  yes,  man,  about  three  inches." 

I  suggested  many  remedies,  such  as  washing 
it  with  saline  solution  and  bandaging  with  oakum 
and  so  on.  But  he  would  have  none  of  them, 
and  insisted  on  having  the  rag  tied  around, 
assuring  me  that  it  would  be  well  in  a  day  or  so. 
He  kept  on  deck  most  of  the  first  watch,  but 
was  evidently  in  great  pain. 

"  I  think  that  we  are  running  into  the  dol 
drums  from  the  look  of  those  clouds  to  the  east 
ward,"  said  he. 

"  We  have  one  thing  in  our  favor,"  I  replied ; 


THE  CAPTAIN  WOUNDS  HIS  HAND      63 

"  we  should  have  a  three-knot  current  to  the 
southward  according  to  the  pilot  chart." 

"  You  should  not  rely  on  what  those  fellows  in 
Washington  put  onto  paper.  If  you  do  you  will 
never  get  anywhere." 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  it  was  raining. 
There  is  no  place  in  the  world  where  it  rains  as 
it  does  around  the  Equator;  it  seems  as  if  the 
celestial  sluice-gates  had  gotten  beyond  control. 
We  were  becalmed,  and  in  the  doldrums,  with 
not  a  breath  of  air.  Usually  this  lasts  for  five 
or  six  days. 

During  this  time  every  one  on  board  is  very 
busy,  catching  water,  filling  barrels,  washing 
clothes,  and  working  ship.  The  latter  work 
is  hard  on  the  crew,  for  you  are  always 
trimming  ship  for  every  puff  of  wind  that 
comes  along.  Pity  the  weak-kneed  mate  in  the 
doldrums.  There  are  times  when  you  tack  and 
wear,  and  boxhaul  ship  every  fifteen  minutes. 
The  crew  resent  this  kind  of  work,  and  while 
doing  it  they  curse  and  swear,  and  will  do  the 
opposite  to  what  they  are  told. 

Here  is  where  the  old-school  mate  comes  in. 


64  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Obey  orders.  He  sees  that  they  do  obey.  Lazy 
sailors  breed  discontent,  and  discipline  must  be 
stern.  If  a  member  of  the  crew  happens  to  be 
idle,  he  must  by  no  means  appear  to  be.  He 
must  at  least  act  very  seriously,  and  look  to  wind 
ward,  as  if  beckoning  for  a  breeze.  There  is  an 
old  saying  among  sailing-ship-men : 

"When  the  wind  is  fair  the  money  comes  in  over  the 

stern, 
When  the  wind  is  ahead  the  money  comes  in  over  the 

bow." 

so  a  sailor  must  never  show  that  the  unfavorable 
weather  is  making  pay  for  him.  He  must  never 
whistles,  tune,  nor  sing  a  song,  but  he  is  priv 
ileged  at  all  times  during  a  calm  to  whistle  as  if 
he  were  calling  a  dog,  for  if  you  don't  get  wind 
with  the  dog-whistling,  you  are  not  to  blame.  I 
have  seen  captains  standing  for  hours  whistling 
for  wind.  Pity  the  man  who  wrould  smile  or 
crack  a  joke  on  so  serious  an  occasion.  One 
captain  I  was  with,  after  whistling  off  and  on  all 
day  without  avail,  threw  three  of  his  hats  over 
board,  one  after  the  other,  crying  in  rage, 
"  There,  now,  damn  you,  give  us  a  gale." 


THE  CAPTAIN  WOUNDS  HIS  HAND      65 

The  wise  mate  knows  his  place  in  trying  times 
like  these.  He  never  goes  aft,  thereby  avoiding 
serious  discussions.  He  always  makes  it  his 
business  to  be  very  busy  in  the  forepart  of  the 
ship.  The  worst  time  for  him  is  meal-time.  It 
is  not  uncommon  to  finish  eating  without  a  word 
being  spoken.  The  cook  is  not  exempt.  Should 
the  captain  count  more  than  ten  raisins  in  the 
bread-pudding,  look  out  for  a  squall !  " 

At  breakfast  I  ate  alone.  The  Captain  was 
walking  around  in  his  room. 

"How  is  your  hand,  sir?"  I  inquired. 

"  It  is  very  painful.  I  have  just  been  washing 
it  with  a  little  carbolic  acid  I  found  in  a  drawer." 

"  I  have  taken  off  staysails,  topsails  and  inner 
and  outer  jib,  sir." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  shut  his  door  with  a 
slam.  I  was  worried  about  his  condition,  but 
was  helpless  to  do  anything  for  him.  He  was 
the  stubborn  type,  with  tight  lips,  and  projecting 
cheek-bones.  He  believed  that  what  he  could 
not  do  for  himself  no  other  could  do  for  him.  I 
think  that  this  applied  only  to  strangers.  As 
captain  of  a  ship  you  are  always  dealing  with 
new  faces,  and  never  have  much  confidence  in 


66  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

any  one.  For  instance  if,  in  taking  the  altitude 
of  the  sun  or  a  star,  his  reckoning  should  differ 
from  yours  by  a  mile  or  so,  you  would  always 
be  wrong.  The  same  with  longitude  by  chron 
ometer  in  time. 

The  loneliness  of  the  sea  must  be  responsible 
for  this.  And  yet  in  their  home  life,  they  are 
ruled  and  dominated  by  their  wives  and  chil 
dren.  I  remember  one  old  captain  I  sailed  with 
in  the  China  Seas.  Fight?  He  loved  it,  ashore 
and  afloat,  and  was  very  proud  of  his  ability, 
claiming  that  he  never  took  the  count.  The  lat 
ter  I  know  to  be  true.  We  left  ports  while  I 
was  sailing  with  him,  where  much  furniture  was 
easily  adaptable  for  firewood. 

When  in  the  home  port  where  his  wife  was,  if 
he  had  spent  more  than  she  allowed  him,  I  would 
have  to  make  up  the  difference.  She  would  come 
down  to  the  ship  and  say :  "  Herman,  come  here, 
I  want  you  to  do  so  and  so."  He  would  look  at 
me,  but  never  ashamed,  and  say,  "  Well,  what 
in  Hell  can  I  do?  " 

"  But,  Captain,  I  want  your  advice  on  so  and 
so." 


THE  CAPTAIN  WOUNDS  HIS  HAND      67 

"  Never  mind  now,"  he  would  say,  "  till  I  steer 
her  away.  You  know  she  don't  like  you  too  well 
anyhow.  She  heard  all  about  the  fight  we  had  in 
Yokohama  with  the  rickshaw  men."  Away  they 
would  go,  arm  in  arm,  a  very  happy  couple. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  BO'SUN  LIGHTS  —  THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEATH 

I  was  so  worried  about  the  Captain  that  I  had 
no  desire  to  sleep  during  the  forenoon  watch. 
About  eleven  o'clock  he  came  to  my  room  saying : 

"  I  can't  stand  this  pain,  it  is  driving  me  wild. 
You  take  charge  of  the  ship.  Take  every  possi 
ble  advantage  you  can,  until  we  run  out  of  the 
doldrums.  Here  are  charts  covering  the  South 
Sea  Isles,  and  here,"  pointing  to  a  small  box,  "  is 
the  Manifest,  and  Bill  of  Health."  While  look 
ing  at  the  latter  I  came  into  contact  with  his 
right  hand.  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  was 
burning  with  fever. 

"  Captain,  may  I  look  at  your  hand?  " 

He  eyed  me  with  the  same  suspicion  as  when  I 
was  suggesting  treatments  on  the  previous  day. 
But  the  stubborn  nature  of  him  was  giving  way 
to  a  feeling  of  friendship  and  sympathy,  a  sym 
pathy  so  noticeable  in  all  living  creatures  when 
their  material  existence  is  in  danger. 

68 


THE  BO 'SUN  LIGHTS  69 

"  Yes,  you  can  look  at  it,  if  it  will  do  you  any 
good,"  holding  the  hand  out  for  me  to  take  the 
bandage  off.  "  I  don't  mind  the  hand  so  much 
as  I  do  this  lump  under  my  arm,  it  is  so  pain 
ful." 

With  the  bandage  off  I  was  horrified  to  see  the 
condition  of  the  wound.  It  was  turning  black, 
and  a  fiery  red  stripe  ran  up  the  arm.  He  must 
have  guessed  what  was  going  on  in  my  mind. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "it  is  blood-poisoning,  and  a 
damned  bad  case.  Don't  tell  me  what  to  do  for 
it.  I  have  tried  everything  I  can  think  of  to 
prevent  this  condition." 

"  Let  us  cut  it  open  and  keep  it  in  hot  water," 
said  I. 

"  Tie  it  up  again,"  he  replied  angrily,  "  you  are 
only  adding  insult  to  injury."  He  turned  to  his 
wife's  picture  which  hung  at  the  head  of  the  bed, 
saying,  "  You  understand,  you  understand.  We 
may  soon  sail  away  through  the  silvery  seas  to 
our  Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun." 

I  went  on  deck  thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  Cap 
tain's  condition  and  aware  that,  unless  a  miracle 
should  happen  within  the  next  forty-eight  hours, 
he  would  be  dead  of  septicaemia. 


70  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

We  were  still  becalmed ;  — not  a  breath  to  curl 
the  blue  roll.  With  booms  and  sails  swinging 
and  wailing  as  she  rolled  and  pitched  in  the 
trough  of  the  sea,  the  angry  gods  of  the  Celestial 
World  belched  forth  their  wrath  in  thunder  and 
lightning.  This,  coupled  with  the  condition  of 
the*  Captain,  made  me  feel,  as  never  before,  the 
utter  lonesomeness  of  the  sea.  It  was  useless, 
with  the  clouded  skies,  to  try  to.  get  a  position  of 
the  ship  for  drift.  She  had  made  no  progress  by 
log  for  twenty  hours.  I  was  anxious  to  know 
the  course  and  speed  of  the  current. 

In  going  forward  to  see  what  the  crew  was 
doing,  I  met  Olsen  coming  aft,  holding  a  wet  rag 
over  his  eye. 

He  said,  "  I  have  had  trouble  with  Swanson, 
he  refuses  to  work  ship.  He  thinks  it  is  not 
necessary  to  tack  and  boxhaul,  he  wants  to  wait 
for  the  wind." 

Olsen  had  the  real  thing,  if  black  eyes  count 
in  the  performance  of  one's  duty. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  him?"  said  I.  "If  you 
are,  keep  away  from  him.  You  will  only  spoil 
him,  and  make  him  believe  that  he  is  running 
the  ship.  Here,"  and  I  pulled  a  belay  ing-pin  out 


THE  BO 'SUN  LIGHTS  71 

from  the  fife-rail,  "  Go  forward  and  work  this  on 
him." 

"  No,"  said  Olsen,  "  he  is  too  big  and  strong 
for  me.  He  told  me  that  there  is  no  one  on 
board  big  and  strong  enough  to  make  him  work. 
I  understand  that  he  almost  killed  a  mate  named 
Larsen — " 

Here  the  cook  interrupted,  saying :  "  Mr.  Mate, 
the  Captain  wants  you  in  the  cabin." 

"  Do  you  want  me,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,  this  pain  is  killing  me,  killing  me,  don't 
you  realize  how  I  am  suffering?  Why  did  you 
leave  me?  Why  don't  you  do  something  to 
relieve  me  of  this  burning  Hell?  " 

I  did  realize  that  the  poison  was  general,  and 
that  he  was  becoming  delirious.  The  unshaven 
face,  the  ruffled  hair,  the  dry  parched  lips,  the 
wild  staring.  It  was  plain  that  for  him  Val 
halla  lay  in  the  offing. 

"  Yes,  Captain,"  said  I,  "  you  are  suffering,  but 
strong  men  like  you  must  be  brave.  You,  who 
for  years  weathered  the  storms  of  Seven  Seas, 
must  now  keep  off  the  lee  shore.  The  wind  will 
soon  be  off  the  land.  Then  ho!  for  the  ocean 
deep." 


72 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  collecting  him 
self  to  try  to  cheer  me  up,  "but  it  is  no  use. 
For  I  can  see  the  lee  shore  with  its  submerged 
and  dangerous  reefs,  I  can  hear  the  billows  roar, 
and  watch  the  thunderous  sea  pour  its  defiance 
on  the  ragged  crags  of  granite.  Yes,  I  am  drift 
ing,  drifting  there." 

After  cutting  open  the  hand  and  arm,  and 
bathing  in  salt  solution,  he  felt  somewhat 
relieved,  and  decided  that  he  would  try  to  sleep. 
Leaving  him  in  charge  of  the  cook,  with  instruc 
tions  to  keep  him  in  bed,  I  went  on  deck  with  a 
heavy  heart,  realizing  that  soon  I  should  be 
responsible  for  the  crew  and  cargo. 

Old  Charlie  was  at  the  wheel.  "  How  is  the 
Captain,  sir?  " 

"  He  is  a  very  sick  man,  Charlie." 

"  Look,  look,"  he  cried,  "  there  he  comes,  lower 
and  lower,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  maintopmast 
truck.  "  Great  Heavens,  he  is  going  to  alight ! 
Yes,  yes;  there  he  sits,"  and  there,  sure  enough, 
sat  the  most  beautiful  bird  in  the  tropics,  the 
Flying  Bo'sun. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  sitting  with  the  Captain, 
who  was  still  sleeping.  At  five  o'clock  I  tried 


THE  BO 'SUN  LIGHTS  73 

to  arouse  him,  but  found  that  he  had  lapsed  into 
a  state  of  coma.  I  left  Olsen  and  the  cook  look 
ing  after  him  while  I  went  to  see  to  the  ship. 

About  eleven  o'clock  I  felt  very  sleepy,  having 
then  been  without  sleep  for  eighteen  hours.  In 
order  to  keep  awake,  I  decided  to  walk  on  the 
deck-load  until  Olsen  relieved  me.  It  was  while 
thus  walking  that  I  went  asleep,  and  fell,  or 
walked,  overboard. 

The  deck-load  of  lumber  is  always  stowed  with 
the  shear  of  the  ship  and  flush  with  the  sides 
or  bulwarks.  There  is  no  rail  or  lifeline,  and 
hence  the  sudden  plunge.  Coming  to  the  sur 
face  I  was  very  much  awake,  and  swimming  to 
the  chain  plates,  I  easily  pulled  myself  out  of  the 
water,  and  into  the  rigging,  and  up  onto  the 
deck.  While  I  was  wringing  out  my  pants,  Old 
Charlie  came  creeping  aft,  saying :  "  Mr.  Mate, 
something  is  going  to  happen  from  his  visit 
today." 

"  To  Hell  with  your  Flying  Bo'sun,"  I  snapped, 
"  you  are  always  predicting  death  and  ghosts  and 
so  on." 

I  was  sorry  that  I  had  spoken  to  the  old 
sailor  this  way,  but  after  falling  fifteen  feet  into 


74  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

the  ocean,  and  just,  by  the  chance  of  a  calm,  sav 
ing  my  life,  I  was  in  no  mood  to  tolerate  the 
re-incarnated  souls  of  drowned  sailors  that  were 
living  in  Old  Charlie's  Flying  Bo'sun. 

Charlie,  much  distressed  at  having  the  omens 
he  loved  so  dearly  so  lightly  disregarded,  slunk 
away  in  the  shadow  of  the  mainsail. 

Riley,  the  man  on  the  lookout,  was  true  to  his 
trust,  and  no  object  in  the  hazy  horizon  would 
escape  the  vigilance  of  his  squinty  left  eye.  Evi 
dently  he  was  not  carried  away  by  the  super 
natural  things  of  life,  but  very  much  in  the  mate 
rial,  judging  from  his  song: 

"Better  days  are  coming  to  reward  us  for  our  woe, 
And  well  all  go  back  to  Ireland  when  the  landlords 
go." 

When  Olsen  relieved  me  on  deck,  I  took  his 
place  with  the  Captain,  who,  although  uncon 
scious,  was  still  hanging  to  the  delicately  spun 
threads  of  life.  As  I  was  sponging  the  dry  and 
parched  lips,  I  glanced  at  the  picture  of  her 
whom  he  loved  so  well.  How  beautiful  it  would 
be,  if  it  should  come  to  pass  as  he  believed,  and 


THE  BO 'SUN  LIGHTS  75 

she  should  pilot  him  away  in  their  astral  ship 
to  the  shades  of  Valhalla ! 

WMle  my  thoughts  ran  thus,  I  was  suddenly 
conscious  of  a  desert  stillness.  Then  creaking 
booms  gave  way  to  a  gentle  lullaby.  The  ship  no 
longer  rolled  and  pitched  in  the  trough  of  the 
sea.  Everything  below  was  peaceful  and  calm. 
I  could  hear  Olsen  calling: 

"  Slack  away  on  the  boom-tackle,  and  haul  in 
on  your  spanker-sheet !  " 

I  knew  then  that  at  last  we  had  the  long-looked- 
for  southeast  trade-winds.  With  the  wind  came 
taut  sheets  and  steady  booms,  and  on  the  face  of 
the  dead  Captain  there  was  a  smile  as  if  saying : 

"  Away  with  you  to  the  tall  green  palms !  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SHOWDOWN  —  SWANSON  TAKES  THE  COUNT 

/ 
I  dimmed  the  swivel  light  in  the  Captain's 

room,  locked  thft  door  and  went  on  deck.  Above, 
there  was  a  fair  breeze,  and  the  sky  was  clear 
and  glittering  with  millions  of  stars. 

"  What  course  are  you  steering?  "  said  I  to 
the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"  South-southwest,  sir." 

"  Let  her  go  off  to  southwest."  I  was  anxious 
to  take  advantage  of  the  wind  by  getting  all  sail 
on  her. 

"  Where  is  the  second  mate?  " 

"  He  is  forward,  sir,  setting  the  jibs." 

Going  forward,  I  shouted  to  Olsen :  "  Get  the 
topsails  and  staysails  on  her  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir.  I  am  short-handed ;  Swanson 
refuses  to  come  on  deck.  I  sent  Russian-Finn 
John  down  to  tell  him  that  we  had  a  fine  breeze, 
and  wanted  him  to  come  up  and  trim  ship.  Do 
you  know,  sir,  he  kicked  him  out  of  the  fo'c'sle?  " 

76 


THE  SHOWDOWN  77 

I  took  stock  of  myself.  I  was  twenty-four 
years  old,  and  weighed  one  hundred  and  eighty 
pounds.  The  big  brute  in  the  forecastle,  refus 
ing  to  work,  whipping  the  second  mate,  and  kick 
ing  his  shipmates  about,  was  getting  too  much  for 
me.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  there  would  be 
twro  dead  captains  or  one  damned  live  one. 

Going  aft  to  my  room,  I  got  a  pair  of  canvas 
slippers  that  I  had  made,  for  with  this  brute 
I  should  be  handicapped  in  bare  feet.  With  the 
slippers  on,  and  overalls  wrell  cinched  up  around 
me,  I  went  to  the  forecastle,  past  Olsen,  who 
was  sheeting  home  the  fore-topsail. 

Calling  down  the  forecastle,  I  said :  "  Swanson, 
come  on  deck."  When  he  appeared :  "  I  suppose 
you  know  that  you  are  guilty  of  a  crime  on  the 
high  seas?" 

He  answered  me  back,  saying :  "  I  tank  about 
it,"  and  took  his  stand  obstinately  at  the  foot  of 
the  ladder. 

The  anger  and  passion  of  thousands  of  years 
was  upon  me.  I  forgot  the  ship,  forgot  the  dead 
captain.  I  skidded  down  the  scuttle-hatch  into 
the  forecastle,  where  he  stood,  awaiting  me  with 
a  large  sheath-knife  in  his  hand. 


78  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"Are  you  going  on  deck?"  I  shouted. 

"  You , , ,"  flourishing  the  knife ; 

"  kap  avay  from  me,  I  kill  you !  " 

I  noticed  an  oilskin  coat  hanging  on  the  bulk 
head.  I  must  say  that  my  mind  was  working 
overtime.  My  height  was  five  feet  eleven,  and 
he  towered  above  me  like  a  giant.  I  was  aware 
of  the  powerful  legs  and  arms  of  this  brute,  con 
veying  the  suggestion  of  second  money  to  me. 
If  I  were  to  trim  this  gorilla,  it  would  require 
tact  and  skill.  Otherwise  I  felt  that  the  dead 
Captain  would  not  have  much  start  on  me.  He 
took  a  step  toward  me,  saying: 

"  You  get  on  deck  damn  quick,  or  by  Jiminy 
I  cut  your  heart  out !  " 

Quick  as  a  flash  I  seized  the  oilskin  coat.  As 
he  raised  his  arm  to  stab  me  I  threw  it  over  his 
head  and  arm,  then  jumped  for  him.  After  some 
minutes'  hard  work  I  succeeded  in  wresting  the 
knife  from  him,  but  not  without  marks  on  my 
legs,  arms  and  hands.  The  forecastle  was  so 
small  it  was  hard  to  do  much  real  fighting.  It 
was  more  rough  and  tumble,  and  this  kind  of  a 
battle  favored  the  Swede. 


THE  SHOWDOWN  79 

While  slashing  with  the  knife,  he  cut  the  belt 
that  held  up  my  overalls.  I  was  handicapped  by 
these  hanging  around  my  feet,  but  fortunately 
landed  a  right  on  his  jaw,  which  sent  him  fall 
ing  into  his  bunk.  This  gave  me  a  chance  to  kick 
free  from  the  pants,  and  in  so  doing  I  kicked  one 
of  the  canvas  shoes  off.  I  can't  remember  when 
I  lost  the  shirt,  but  what  was  left  of  it  was  lying 
by  the  bench.  He  pulled  himself  from  the  bunk 
saying,  "  I  tank  I  go  on  deck." 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  there  is  not  much  fight 
in  him  after  all." 

It  was  about  twelve  feet  from  the  forecastle  to 
the  deck.  When  he  reached  the  deck  I  started  up 
after  him.  When  my  head  was  even  with  the 
deck,  he  stepped  from  behind  the  scuttle  and 
kicked  me  in  the  forehead,  knocking  me  back  to 
the  forecastle.  Had  he  followed  up  the  blow  I 
should  have  indeed  joined  the  dead  Captain. 

But  no,  he  thought  that  he  had  finished  me  for 
good. 

When  I  came  to,  I  could  hear  strange  noises 
around  me.  Some  one  was  washing  my  face,  and 
saying :  "  And  begorra,  it  is  far  from  being  fin- 


80  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

ished  you  are,  me  good  man."     It  was  Riley. 

Old  Charlie  voiced  in,  saying :  "  That  is  a  bad 
cut  on  his  forehead.'7 

Riley  had  no  use  for  pessimists.  "  Ah,  go  wan 
with  you,  sure  an  it  is  only  a  scratch  he  has. 
Now  when  I  had  me  eye  knocked  out — " 

Here  I  got  upon  my  feet,  dazed,  but  with  no 
broken  bones.  "Where  is  Swanson?" 

"  He  is  aft  by  the  mainmast,  sur,  and  be  Hivins, 
it  is  a  sight  he  is,  sur." 

"  Riley,"  said  I,  "  come  on  deck  and  throw  a 
few  buckets  of  salt  water  on  me."  There  is  noth 
ing  so  invigorating  as  salt  water  when  one  is 
exhausted. 

After  the  bath,  with  its  salty  sting  in  my  cuts 
and  scratches,  I  was  ready  for  the  cur  again. 
He  saw  me  coming  up  on  the  deck-load,  and 
straightened  up  as  if  he  thought  that  there  was 
still  some  fight  left  in  me.  I  noticed  that  he  had 
a  wooden  belaying-pin  in  his  hand.  I  took  my 
cue  from  that. 

Stalling  that  I  was  all  in,  and  crawling  aft  to 
my  room,  I  gave  him  this  impression  until  I  was 
abreast  of  him,  and  then  I  was  on  him  with  a 
vengeance.  I  snatched  the  pin  from  him,  and 


THE  SHOWDOWN  81 

finished  him  in  a  hurry.  When  he  cried  for 
mercy,  and  promised  that  he  would  work,  and 
work  with  a  will,  I  decided  that  he  had  had  as 
good  a  trimming  as  I  could  give  him,  and  let 
him  up. 

"  Now,  I  want  you  to  stay  on  deck,  and  work 
until  I  tell  you  that  you  can  have  a  watch 
below." 

Calling  all  hands,  I  said,  "  Men,  our  Captain 
died  during  the  middle  watch.  We  will  bury 
him  at  nine  o'clock  this  morning." 

With  the  surprised  and  solemn  look  of  the 
crew  as  they  heard  my  announcement,  was  min 
gled  no  mirth  at  my  scant  attire  of  one  canvas 
shoe.  That  was  lost  in  their  sympathy  for  him 
who  was  taking  the  long  sleep,  and  I  doubt  if  they 
noticed  it  at  all. 

Death  on  board  a  ship  creates  a  hushed  still 
ness.  Amongst  the  crew  Old  Charlie  looked  up 
at  the  mast  as  if  expecting  another  Bo'sun  to 
appear.  He  seemed  satisfied  with  his  predic 
tions.  But  Riley  took  a  different  view. 

"  Mother  of  God !  It's  fighting  there  has  been 
going  on  with  the  poor  dead  Captain  laying  aft 
there.  Be  Heavens,  sir,"  pointing,  "  it's  bad  luck 


82  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

we  will  be  having  for  carrying  on  like  this  in  the 
presence  iv  th'  dead." 

Sending  him  after  my  overalls  and  shoe,  I  went 
to  my  room  to  look  myself  over.  My  eyes  were 
black,  face  cut,  arms,  hands  and  body  cut  and 
scratched,  and  worst  of  all,  was  my  forehead 
where  the  brute  had  kicked  me.  I  still  carry 
this  scar.  I  was  somewhat  alarmed  with  these 
open  wounds,  and  knew  that  I  must  be  careful 
of  handling  the  Captain. 

Hot  breakfast,  with  its  steaming  coffee,  did 
much  to  revive  me,  and  for  the  second  time  I 
was  aware  that  the  Socialist  cook  was  a  friend  in 
need. 


CHAPTER  X 
BURIAL  AT  SEA  —  AT  WHICH  RILEY  OFFICIATES 

At  eight  o'clock  I  called  Riley  and  Old  Charlie 
aft  to  the  cabin.  "  Riley,"  said  I,  opening  the 
door  to  the  Captain's  room,  "  I  want  you  and 
Charlie  to  sew  the  Captain's  body  in  this  tarpau 
lin,  while  I  go  and  find  something  to  sink  it  with. 
Roll  him  over  towards  the  partition,  then  roll 
him  back  onto  the  hatch-cover,  then  gather  it  in 
at  both  ends." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,  and  shure  it  is  meself  that  has 
sewed  many  av  thim  up." 

In  the  boatswain's  locker  I  found  plenty  of  old 
chain  bolts  and  shackles.  I  had  one  of  the  crew 
carry  them  to  the  weather  main  rigging.  While 
going  down  the  companion-way  to  see  how  Riley 
and  Charlie  were  getting  along  with  their  sew 
ing,  I  thought,  by  a  sudden  noise,  that  they  had 
begun  to  quarrel. 

"  Where  the  divil  did  you  ever  sew  up  a  dead 
man?"  came  in  Riley 's  voice,  and  "Damn  you, 

83 


84  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

pull  that  flap  down  over  his  face."  Then  I  could 
hear  boots  and  glasses  being  thrown  around. 
"  Get  out  of  here,  you  black  divil,  it's  eating  your 
master  you  would  be  doing,  pss-cat,  pss-cat,  you 
dirty,  hungry-looking  tiger !  " 

Then  all  was  still  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  Old 
Charlie's  voice  saying,  "  Mike  Kiley,  this  is  a 
terrible  calamity  that  has  happened  to  us,  the  loss 
of  our  captain.  And  Riley,  this  is  not  all.  I 
am  afraid  there  will  be  more." 

"Ah,  go  wan  wit  your  platting,"  said  Riley, 
"  Pull  the  seam  tight  around  his  neck.  That  is 
the  way.  Now.  sew  it  with  a  herring-bone  stitch. 
Hould  on  a  minute,  Charlie,  till  I  get  me  last  look 
at  him.  Faith,  and  be  my  sowl,  he  wasn't  a  very 
bad-looking  man." 

Here  I  walked  into  the  room,  saying :  "  When 
you  are  finished  I  will  get  you  more  help  to  carry 
him  on  deck.  But  leave  a  place  open  at  the  head 
so  that  we  can  put  the  weights  in." 

"  Sinking  him  by  the  head  is  it  you  are,  sir? 
Glory  be  to  God,  don't  do  that.  Let  him  go  down 
feet  first,  sir.  Be  Hivins,  if  you  put  him  down 
be  the  head  we  will  have  the  divil's  own  luck ! 
I  remember  wan  time  on  the  auld  lime-juicer 


BURIAL  AT  SEA  85 

'King  of  the  Seas/  the  second  mate  died.  We 
weighed  him  down  by  the  head  —  begob,  and  it 
wasn't  a  week  till  ivery  man  av  us  had  the 
scurvy." 

"  Kiley,"  I  laughed,  "  you  are  a  very  super 
stitious  man." 

"  It's  you  that  are  mistaken,  sir.  Sure  an  I'm 
annything  but  that,  sir." 

The  cook  interrupted  us  to  ask  if  he  could  help 
in  any  way.  I  told  him  to  help  Charlie  and 
Riley  carry  the  body  up  on  deck.  Eiley  at  once 
took  command.  "  Charlie,  you  take  the  head,  I 
will  take  the  feet,  and,  Steward,  you  can  help 
in  the  middle.  Are  you  all  ready?  Up  wit  him, 
then, —  be  Hivins  isn't  he  heavy?" 

Charlie  started  towards  the  door  so  as  to  take 
the  body  out  head  first.  Eiley  promptly  objected 
to  this  move,  and  propped  the  feet  on  the  edge  of 
the  berth  while  he  asserted  his  authority. 

"And  it's  take  him  out  be  the  head  ye'd  be 
after  doing?  Where  in  blazes  did  you  come 
from?  Oh,  you  poor  auld  divil  you !  Whoever 
heard  of  takin'  a  corpse  out  head  first.  Turn 
him  around,  bad  luck  to  you,  with  his  feet  out. 
Sure,  an  it's  walk  out  on  his  feet  he  would,  if  h« 


86  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

were  on  thim.  Niver  do  that,  Charlie,  me  boy, 
if  ye  want  to  prosper  in  this  life." 

We  pulled  two  planks  from  the  deckload,  and 
spiked  cross-pieces  on,  while  Riley  supervised  the 
weighing-down.  Then  all  was  ready  to  commit 
the  body  to  the  deep  blue  sea. 

While  the  second  mate  was  back-filling  the 
foresail  and  hauling  the  main-jib  to  windward, 
to  stop  the  ship  for  sea-burial,  I  fell  to  thinking 
of  our  Captain.  Here  he  was,  in  the  prime  of 
life,  about  to  be  cast  into  the  sea,  No  one  to 
love  him,  no  one  to  care,  none  but  the  rough  if 
kindly  hands  of  sailors  to  guide  him  to  his  rest 
ing-place.  As  I  glanced  around  the  horizon,  and 
the  broad  expanse  of  the  Pacific,  I  was  overcome 
by  loneliness.  Ships  might  come  and  ships 
might  go,  and  still  there  would  be  no  sign  of  his 
last  resting-place,  no  chance  to  pay  respects  to 
the  upright  seaman,  the  devoted  husband  and 
father.  The  silent  ocean  currents,  responsible 
to  no  one,  would  be  drifting  him  hither  and 
thither. 

The  last  few  days  and  the  terrible  fight  were 
telling  upon  me. 

I  was  astonished  to  look  around  and  find  that 


BURIAL  AT  SEA  87 

I  was  alone  with  the  dead.     The  only  other  per 
son  on  deck  was  Broken-Nosed  Pete  at  the  wheel. 

I  went  forward  and  sung  out :  "  Come  forward, 
some  of  you,  and  lend  a  hand  here." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir;  we  are  coming,"  answered 
Riley's  brogue. 

There  was  something  about  Riley,  in  his  sim 
ple  seriousness  and  appeal  to  my  humor,  that  was 
a  great  help  to  me  just  now.  They  came  aft, 
every  one  of  them,  in  their  best  clothes,  with 
shined  and  squeaky  shoes,  looking  very  solemn. 
"  Here,"  said  I,  "  take  a  hand  and  shove  the 
planks  out  so  that  the  body  will  clear  the  bulwark 
rail  when  she  rolls  to  windward."  I  was  about 
to  give  the  order  to  tip  the  plank,  when  I  was 
interrupted  by  Eiley  saying  excitedly :  "  Lord 
God,  sir,  aren't  you  going  to  say  something  over 
him?" 

"  Riley,"  I  said  as  the  crew  gathered  around, 
"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  except  that  I  commit 
this  body  to  the  sea.  Up  with  the  plank." 

"  Hould  on,  hould  on,"  cried  Riley  in  despair. 
"  Sure  I  wouldn't  send  a  dog  over  like  that !  I 
will  read  the  Litany  of  the  Blissed  Virgin  Mary, 
and  it  don't  make  a  damned  bit  av  diffrunce 


whether  he  belaves  it  or  not.  Hould  on,  me  boy, 
till  I  get  my  prayer  book." 

Riley  returned  from  the  forecastle  cursing  and 
swearing. 

"  Howly  Mother  av  Moses,  they  have  ate  the 
Litany  out  av  me  prayer-book,  and  the  poor  sowl 
about  to  be  throwed  overboard." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Riley?"  I  asked. 

"  Ah,  the  dirty  divils !  The  rats  has  made  a 
nest  av  me  Holy  Prayer-book! " 

"  Sanctified  rats  — "  I  was  beginning  profanely, 
when  fortunately  the  cook  interrupted  me. 

"What  good  will  a  prayer-book  do  him  now? 
Your  prayer-books,  and  flowers  and  beautiful 
coffins  are  only  advertisements  of  ignorance. 
The  man  of  thought  today  throws  those  prim 
itive  things  away,  or  sends  them  back  to  the  sav 
ages.  You  men  will  in  time  come  to  believe  in  a 
Creative  Power  of  Organization,  or  a  Material 
Force,  but  in  your  present  state  of  ignorance  you 
are  carried  away  by  a  supernatural  power  des 
tined  for  the  poor  and  helpless." 

While  the  cook  was  talking  Riley  was  taking 
off  his  coat,  and  rolling  up  his  sleeves.  "  It  is 


BURIAL  AT  SEA  89 

poor  and  helpless  we  are,  are  we?  You  durty, 
fat,  Dutch  hound.  Take  back  what  you  were 
saying/'  as  he  grabbed  him  by  the  neck,  "  or  be 
me  sowl  it's  over  you  go  before  the  Owld  Man. 
It  is  ignorant  we  are,  and  savages  we  are.  Take 
that,"  hitting  him  on  the  jaw.  "  Be  Hivins  and 
I'll  not  sail  wit  a  heathen.  Come  on,  me  boys. 
Over  wit  him." 

"  Here,  Riley,"  I  said,  "  this  must  stop.  Don't 
you  know  that  you  are  in  the  presence  of  the 
dead?  Every  one  has  the  privilege  of  believing 
what  he  wants  to." 

"He  has  that,  sir,  but  begorra,  he  wants  to 
keep  it  to  himself." 

"  Men,"  said  I,  "  we  will  raise  the  plank. 
While  we  are  doing  it  let  us  sing,  '  Nearer,  my 
God,  to  Thee.' " 

While  we  were  singing  the  beautiful  hymn, 
the  old  ship  we  loved  so  well  seemed  to  feel  this 
solemn  occasion.  Although  held  in  irons  by  hav 
ing  her  sails  aback,  she  did  salute  to  her  former 
captain  by  some  strange  freak  of  the  sea,  coming 
up  in  the  wind,  and  shaking  her  sails. 

Before  we  finished  the  singing  the  cook  was 


90  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

leading  in  a  rich  tenor  voice,  and  by  the  time  that 
the  last  sound  had  died  away,  our  Captain  had 
slid  off  into  the  deep. 

*     *     »     # 

"  Let  go  your  main  jib  to  windward,  haul  in  the 
fore-boom  sheet."  To  the  man  at  the  wheel, 
"  Let  her  go  off  to  her  course  again." 


CHAPTER  XI 

ASTRAL  INFLUENCE  —  THE  CREW'S  VERSION  OP 
THE  UNKNOWN 

With  these  orders  the  crew,  although  silent 
and  solemn,  went  about  their  various  duties  in 
their  shiny  and  squeaky  shoes,  the  only  remain 
ing  sign  of  what  had  come  to  pass. 

I  told  the  steward  to  throw  all  of  the  Cap 
tain's  clothing  overboard.  He  protested,  saying, 
"  Surely,  sir,  you  won't  destroy  his  blankets?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Steward,  there  are  enough  germs  in 
those  blankets  to  destroy  all  of  Coxey's  Army." 

This  mention  of  Coxey's  Army  was  a  mistake 
indeed.  He  changed  at  once  from  the  compara 
tive  refinement  that  the  hymn  had  wrought  in 
him,  to  the  fiery  rage  of  the  soap-box  orator. 

"  They  were  the  men,"  he  thundered,  "  who 
make  life  possible  for  you  and  me.  Otherwise 
we  should  be  ground  in  the  mill  of  the  lust  and 
greed  of  capitalism." 

He  started  to  lead  off  on  the  subject  of  equal 
distribution,  when  I  interrupted: 

91 


92  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Steward,  this  is  no  place  to  expound  your 
theories  of  Socialism.  You  have  done  much 
harm  since  you  came  aboard  this  ship.  Here," 
pointing  to  Swanson,  who  was  slowly  recover 
ing  from  his  battle  for  supremacy,  "  is  a  man 
who  was  led  to  believe  from  listening  to  your 
radical  doctrines  that  work  was  not  a  necessary 
element  in  his  life.  Living  in  your  world  of 
thought,  he  gained  the  impression  that  refusing 
to  work  and  disobeying  orders  was  a  perfectly 
natural  thing  to  do.  Now  let  me  impress  you 
with  this  thought  —  while  you  are  aboard  this 
Bhip  with  me,  I'll  not  tolerate  any  more  of  your 
ill-advised  teachings  to  the  crew." 

Later,  while  he  was  throwing  the  Captain's 
bedding  overboard,  I  could  hear  him  say : 

".  .  .  To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  they  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonored  and  unsung." 

December  20th,  1898.  Our  position  of  ship  at 
noon  today  was  four  miles  north  latitude,  longi 
tude  147°  19"  west.  In  looking  over  the  chart  I 
found  that  the  course  had  been  laid  out  by  the 
Captain  before  his  death.  Although  now  sev 
enty  miles  to  the  eastward  of  it,  I  decided  with 


ASTRAL  INFLUENCE  93 

favorable  winds  to  follow  this  line  to  the  South 
Sea  Isles. 

It  was  while  doing  this  work  that  I  fell  to 
pondering  my  responsibilities  to  the  owners,  the 
crew  and  the  consignees.  We  were  carrying 
about  five  hundred  thousand  feet  of  select  lum 
ber  to  Suva,  Fiji  Islands.  I  had  never  visited 
these  islands,  but  had  read  of  their  submerged 
reefs  and  tricky  currents.  Up  to  this  time  I  had 
taken  my  responsibilities  negatively,  being  of  the 
age  when  one  is  not  taken  seriously,  and  I  must 
say  being  rather  inclined  to  lean  on  those  higher 
up.  This  latter  is,  I  believe,  very  destructive  to 
one's  self-confidence  and  determination,  those 
qualities  so  necessary  in  fitting  one  for  leadership 
both  by  land  and  sea. 

In  cleaning  up  the  Captain's  cabin  I  was  deeply 
impressed  with  his  remarkable  sense  of  order. 
His  best  clothes  were  lashed  to  a  partition  to 
keep  from  chafing  by  the  roll  of  the  ship.  The 
ash-tray  was  fastened  to  the  floor  across  the  room 
and  opposite  the  bed,  and  there  also  stood  to 
bacco,  matches,  cigars  and  spittoon.  When  using 
these  things  he  would  have  to  get  up  and  move 
clear  across  the  room  from  his  writing-desk  or 


94  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

bed,  which  seemed  out  of  place  for  a  sailor-man. 

(Captains  whom  I  sailed  with  usually  disre 
garded  any  and  all  sense  of  order,  preferring  not 
to  interfere  with  the  laws  of  gravity,  particularly 
when  chewing  tobacco.  But  if  these  same  white 
shirts  happened  to  leave  the  hand  of  the  sailor 
who  washed  them  with  any  remnant  of  stain, 
His  Majesty  could  be  heard  swearing  all  over  the 
ship. ) 

For  the  past  three  days  everything  has  been 
going  beautifully,  with  the  wind  free  and  fair. 
We  are  clipping  it  off  at  ten  knots  an  hour. 

To-night  I  noticed  that  the  man  at  the  wheel 
acted  rather  queerly,  and  was  not  steering  at  all 
well.  The  men  looked  continually  from  left  to 
right,  acting  as  if  they  feared  that  some  one  was 
going  to  strike  them. 

It  was  during  the  middle  watch  that  I  heard  a 
conversation  in  the  forecastle  between  Riley,  Old 
Charlie  and  Broken-Nosed  Pete.  Charlie  was 
trying  to  convince  Pete  by  saying: 

"  You  may  not  understand,  but  it  is  true,  none 
the  less.  Look  at  me  in  the  '  Mud  Puddler.' 

The  suspense  of  this  argument  was  evidently 
getting  on  Eiley's  nerves.  He  interrupted  with, 


ASTRAL  INFLUENCE  95 

"  Damn  it  all,  man,  I  tell  you  lie  is  back  on  the 
ship.  Haven't  we  all  heard  him  prancing  around 
in  his  room?  Upon  my  sowl,  I  have  felt  him 
looking  into  the  compass.  Oh,  be  Hivins,  me 
good  man,  you  will  see  him  soon  enough." 

Here  Old  Charlie  once  more  took  the  floor. 
"  Riley,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  that  he  has  come 
back  to  warn  us  of  some  danger." 

"  Divil  a  bit  av  danger  we  will  be  having." 
This  with  bravado. 

"  You  know  he  may  have  come  back  to  find  his 
knife.  You  remember  wrhen  you  sewed  him  up 
you  found  it  in  his  bed." 

"  Ah,  go  wan,  you  durty  ape,  didn't  I  throw  it 
overboard  with  him?" 

"  It  may  be  he  wants  to  talk  with  some  one." 

"  Be  Hivins,  shure  I  don't  want  to  talk  wit 
him.  Why  sure'n  I  don't  know  the  man  at  all. 
I  niver  shpoke  a  wrurd  to  him  on  this  ship." 

"  Well,  it  does  seem  that  he  is  trying  to  man 
ifest  himself  to  you  more  than  to  any  one  on  this 
ship.  Why  not  ask  him  if  you  can  help  him 
in  any  way?"  Evidently  this  conversation  was 
getting  too  creepy  for  Riley  for  he  changed  the 
subject,  declaring  with  great  feeling  that  he  had 


96  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

never  seen  a  more  beautiful  night,  and  so  near 
Christmas  too. 

But  Charlie  was  not  to  be  put  off  that  way. 

"  Riley,"  he  said,  "  can't  you  feel  him  around 
here  at  this  moment?" 

"  Ah,  go  wan,  to  Hell  wit  you,  sure'n  you  will 
have  him  keepin'  the  lookout  wit  you  the  next 
we  hear.'-' 

I  was  so  much  interested  in  what  I  had  heard 
that  I  jumped  up  onto  the  forecastle  head.  I 
came  upon  them  so  suddenly  that  Eiley  jumped 
back  exclaiming,  "Hivinly  Father,  and  what  is 
this?" 

He  seemed  greatly  relieved  when  I  spoke  and 
said  artfully : 

"  Isn't  this  a  beautiful  night?  See  how  large 
and  bright  those  stars  are  there,"  pointing  to 
the  Southern  Cross.  "You  men  seem  to  have 
some  secret  about  this  ship, —  what  is  it?  "  I  con 
tinued,  as  my  remark  met  with  no  response. 

Old  Charlie  cleared  his  throat,  and,  looking 
towards  Eiley  as  if  for  an  approval,  said  sol 
emnly  :  "  Things  are  not  as  they  should  be  aft." 

"  What  is  it?  Aren't  you  being  treated  well? 
Aren't  you  getting  enough  to  eat?" 


97 

"  On,  it  isn't  that  at  all,  sir,"  broke  in  Riley. 

"Hold  on,  Riley,  let  me  explain,"  and  Old 
Charlie  once  more  cleared  his  throat. 

"As  I  was  saying,  we  believe  that  the  ghost 
of  the  Captain  is  back  on  board,"  tapping  the 
deck  with  his  foot. 

I  felt  that  a  word  of  encouragement  was  neces 
sary  if  I  expected  to  be  let  in  on  the  mystery. 
"  Well,"  said  I,  "  that  is  nothing.  Men  who 
have  been  taken  suddenly  out  of  this  life  may 
perhaps  have  left  some  important  business  unfin 
ished,  and  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
is  for  them  to  find  some  one  whom  they  can  con 
verse  with." 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  telling  Eiley,  sir,  that 
very  same  thing,  and  you  know  Riley  seems  to 
have  more  influence  with  him  than  any  one  so 
far." 

"  Influence  is  it?  "  said  Riley,  "  and  shure,  sir, 
he  is  a  stranger  intirely  to  me." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Riley." 

"  It's  a  damned  strange  thing,  sir.  Well,  it 
was  me  watch  from  ten  to  twelve.  I  was  just 
after  striking  six  bells,  when  I  takes  a  chew  of 
me  tobacco,  and  ses  I  to  myself  I  had  better  be 


98  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

careful  where  I  spit  around  here.  I  know,  sir, 
you  don't  like  tobacco  juice  on  the  paint-work. 
Reaching  down  to  locate  the  spit-box  to  make 
sure  that  I  could  do  it  daycently,  be  me  sowl,  sur, 
something  flipped  by  me.  Shtraitening  up,  ses 
I  to  meself,  ses  I,  '  Be  Hivins,  and  it  must  be  the 
blood  running  to  me  head.'  I  took  a  look  at  the 
compass,  and  she  was1  one  point  to  windward  of 
her  course.  You  were  forward,  sir,  taking  a  pull 
on  the  forestaysail-halyards,  and  I  ses  to  meself, 
1  Sure  an  if  he  comes  aft  and  catches  me  with 
her  off  her  course  he  will  flail  me  like  he  did  the 
big  Swede.'  Ah,  an  shure  it  is  the  fine  bye  he  is 
now.  There's  the  Squarehead  so  rejuced  he  even 
offers  to  wash  me  tin  plate  for  me.  Well,  I 
got  her  back  on  her  course,  when  all  of  a  sud 
den  I  heard  the  divil's  own  noise  in  the  Captain's 
room.  Ses  I  to  myself,  ses  I,  '  Mike  Riley,  don't 
be  a  damned  fool  and  belave  ivery thing  you  hear.' 
But  look  as  I  would  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes 
from  the  window  of  the  Captain's  room,  whin  lo 
and  behold,  I  got  a  glimpse  of  his  face  looking  out 
at  me.  (  Hivenly  Father,'  ses  I,  '  give  me  strenk 
and  faith  in  yous  to  finish  me  watch.'  Glory  be 
to  God,  sir,  I  lost  me  head,  and  it's  hard  up  wit 


ASTRAL  INFLUENCE  99 

me  helm  I  was  doing,  when  you  shouted, '  Where 
in  Hell  are  you  going  with  her? '  Be  Hivins, 
and  I  was  going  straight  back  with  her." 

During  this  story  Broken -Nosed  Pete  kept  edg 
ing  closer,  seemingly  impressed,  and  about  to 
become  a  convert  to  Riley's  sincerity,  while  Old 
Charlie  was  just  revelling  in  the  details  of  the 
apparition,  and  at  times,  thinking  that  Riley 
was  not  doing  justice  to  his  subject  in  creating 
the  proper  amount  of  enthusiasm,  would  inter 
rupt  by  saying,  "  There  you  are  now.  Just  as  I 
was  saying.  One  couldn't  expect  anything  else," 
—  and  so  forth. 

These  remarks  seemed  to  resolve  any  doubts 
that  may  have  existed  in  Riley's  mind  of  the 
genuineness  of  the  face  at  the  window. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  COOK'S  WATCH  —  MATERIALISM  VERSUS 
ASTRALISM 

I  had  the  key  to  the  Captain's  room  in  my 
pocket  and  knew  that  no  one  was  in  there,  but 
Kiley's  story  had  taken  such  a  serious  trend  that 
I  decided  to  withhold  the  news  from  them. 

"  Well,  Riley,"  I  said  carelessly,  "  you  are 
easily  frightened,  when  Toby  can  scare  you  like 
this." 

Here  they  all  jumped  toward  me,  and  started 
to  talk  at  once.  Charlie,  calling  for  order, 
decided  that  now  was  the  time  to  fix  me  forever. 
He  introduced  Broken-Nosed  Pete,  who  had 
always  been  inclined  to  be  skeptical,  to  put  the 
finishing  touches  on  Kiley's  story. 

Pete,  I  may  state,  when  he  was  rational,  was 
unaffected  in  his  speech  by  the  rather  unusual 
list  of  his  nose.  But  tonight,  moved  by  power 
ful  feelings,  he  threw  convention  to  the  winds, 
and  spoke  in  loud  nasal  tones,  and  with  gestures 

befitting  an  orator. 

100 


THE  COOK'S  WATCH  101 

"  Go  on,"  said  Charlie,  pushing  him  forward, 
"tell  him,  Pete." 

"  I  had  just  called  the  watch  below,"  he  began, 
"  and  was  taking  my  smoke  and  a  bite  of  lunch. 
By  that  time  it  was  eight  bells.  I  was  pulling 
down  my  blankets  about  to  turn  in,  when  I  sees 
Riley  coming  down  the  scuttle  with  his  cap  in 
his  hand  and  very  warm  looking.  t  Is  Toby  in 
here? '  ses  Riley.  *  He  is,'  ses  I.  '  He  is  over  in 
Eussian-Finn  John's  bunk/  '  Holy  Mother  of 
God,'  ses  Kiley,  '  get  me  a  drink  of  water,  'tis 
fainting  I  am.'  'What's  wrong,  Kiley?'  I  asks. 
t  Oh,  be  Hivins,'  ses  he, '  I  have  made  the  mistake 
of  me  life  by  ever  shipping  on  this  dirty  old 
graveyard.'  As  for  the  rest,  sir,  you  have  heard 
it  from  Riley." 

"Was  Riley  scared  when  he  came  into  the 
forecastle?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  swore  horribly,  and  threatened 
to  kill  anybody  who  put  out  the  light." 

"  Well,  we  will  all  have  some  fun  catching  this 
ghost  of  yours.  I  will  give  an  extra  day's  leave 
in  Suva  to  the  man  wTho  helps  me.  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  men? "  Charlie  volunteered  will 
ingly.  Pete  was  rather  shy. 


102  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Kiley,  let  us  hear  from  you." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  us  to  do,  sir?  " 

"  I  want  each  of  you  to  take  one  hour  watches 
in  the  Captain's  room  from  twelve  to  four." 
This  was  too  much  for  Riley. 

"  Be  Hivins,  sir,  if  ye  offered  me  a  year's  leaf 
in  a  Turkish  Harem  to  stay  five  minutes  in  the 
auld  haunted  room,  I  wouldn't  take  it,  for  as 
sure  as  me  name  is  Michael  Dennis  Eiley  he  is 
rummaging  around  there." 

The  news  of  the  ghost  soon  spread  over  the 
ship,  and  formed  the  sole  topic  of  conversation 
of  the  crew.  Even  the  second  mate,  whom  I 
thought  Immune,  was  going  around  the  decks 
looking  bewildered,  as  if  anticipating  the  imme 
diate  destruction  of  ship  and  crew. 

The  Socialist  cook  was  much  interested  in  our 
astral  visitor,  and  I  thought  how  happy  it  would 
make  him  to  sail  away  on  the  wings  of  a  new  law 
that  would  revolutionize  both  physics  and  chem 
istry. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  can  trust  me  to  keep 
watch  from  twelve  to  two  tonight  in  the  Cap 
tain's  room.  I  am  very  much  pleased  indeed 


THE  COOK'S  WATCH  103 

to  have  the  opportunity.  I  have  for  years  been 
fighting  the  mechanical  and  cheap  manifesta 
tions  of  mediums  and  seers."  He  picked  up  his 
apron  and  wiped  his  mouth,  to  interrupt  the  line 
of  march  of  tobacco  juice  which,  having  broken 
the  barriers,  was  slowly  wending  its  way  down  his 
chin. 

"  Let  me  tell  you/'  he  said.  "  A  material  law 
gives  us  life.  The  same  law  takes  it  away.  All 
material  life,"  stamping  the  deck,  "  ends  here. 
From  the  clay  there  is  no  redemption." 

At  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  cook  called 
me. 

"What  do  you  want,  Steward?"  said  I. 

"  There  is  something  in  the  Captain's  room. 
Something  I  can't  understand.  When  I  am  in 
the  room  with  the  light  out,  I  am  conscious  of 
some  one  with  me.  And  yet  when  I  turn  on  the 
light  that  feeling  leaves  me.  Then  when  I  turn 
out  the  light  and  lock  the  door  and  sit  here  by 
the  dining-table  I  would  swear  I  could  hear  the 
sound  of  footsteps  walking  around,  and  the  mov 
ing  of  chairs.  I  tell  you,  sir,  it  is  mighty 
strange." 


104  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  Are  you  sure  that  the  sounds  you  heard  were 
not  made  by  the  second  mate  walking  on  the 
deck  above?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  at  all.  He  agreed  to  stay  for 
ward  on  the  deck-load  till  four  bells." 

"How  about  the  man  at  the  wheel?"  said  I. 
"  He  could  walk  around  on  the  steering  platform 
and  produce  such  sounds  as  you  heard  in  the 
Captain's  room." 

"Again  you  are  mistaken.  The  man  at  the 
wheel  is  too  scared  to  make  any  move  but  a  nat 
ural  one,  such  as  turning  the  wheel,  and  that 
movement  produces  no  sound  down  here  in  fair 
weather  like  we  are  having." 

The  cook  was  truly  mystified.  He  was  anx 
ious  for  me  to  realize  the  importance  of  his  inves 
tigations  in  the  Captain's  room,  yet  with  it  all 
he  held  fast  to  his  materialistic  ideals. 

"  Cook,"  said  I,  "  you  are  taking  this  thing 
too  seriously.  I  am  certain  that  I  have  solved 
this  mystery.  Kiley  is  certain  that  it  is  not 
Toby,  the  cat.  Now  you  come  along  and  are 
ready  to  prove  that  the  sounds  or  walking  you 
have  observed  were  not  produced  by  a  material 
power  from  the  deck  above." 


THE  COOK'S  WATCH  105 

"  I  mean/'  replied  he,  "  that  this  walking  in 
here  was  not  produced  by  any  action  of  the  sec 
ond  mate  or  the  man  at  the  wheel." 

I  told  him  that  nevertheless  I  had  the  mys 
tery  solved,  and  I  would  prove  it  to  him.  "  We 
have  in  the  lower  hold  one  hundred  thousand  feet 
of  kiln-dried  spruce  boards  one-half  inch  thick, 
and  twenty-six  to  thirty  inches  wide.  They  vary 
in  length  from  eighteen  to  thirty-six  feet.  The 
after  bulkhead  does  not  run  flush  with  the  deck 
above,  and  there  are  ends  of  boards  that  project 
over  and  into  the  runway.  With  the  easy  move 
ment  of  the  ship,  this  will  produce  a  metallic 
sound  that  will  cause  vibration  at  a  distance,  and 
more  distinctly  under  the  Captain's  room." 

At  this  the  cook  became  very  indignant,  and 
told  me  that  my  theory  was  not  correct  at 
all. 

"  Haven't  I  spent  a  half  hour  in  the  lazarette 
looking  and  listening  for  just  such  sounds  as  you 
describe?  " 

"Are  you  sure  that  there  are  no  rats  in  his 
room  ?  " 

"  If  there  are,  I  fail  to  find  them.  I  have 
placed  cheese  around  the  room  to  convince 


106  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

myself.  On  examination  of  the  cheese  I  couldn't 
find  a  tooth  mark." 

"  But  why  are  there  no  sounds  of  walking  in 
there  now?" 

"That  is  what  baffles  me,"  said  the  cook. 
"  Since  we  have  been  talking  there  has  not  been 
a  sound  from  that  room." 

I  sent  him  to  turn  in,  assuring  him  that  I 
would  sit  in  the  room  for  an  hour  or  so  to  see 
what  would  happen,  and  to  try  to  solve  a  mystery 
that  wras  beginning  to  try  even  my  seasoned 
nerves. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HIGHER  INTELLIGENCE  —  A  VISIT  FROM  OUT  THE 
SHADOWS 

When  the  steward  had  gone  forward  to  his 
bunk,  I  got  a  lunch,  and  was  about  to  sit  down 
by  the  dining-table  to  eat  it,  when  I  saw  the  door 
of  the  Captain's  room  open  wide. 

Then,  to  my  utter  amazement,  I  saw  the  chair 
that  the  dead  Captain  had  sat  in  for  years  swing 
around  upon  its  pivot  ready  to  receive  a  visitor. 
I  was  so  startled  by  the  wonderful  unseen  force 
that  I  forgot  my  lunch  and  was  starting  to 
close  the  door  in  the  hope  of  another  uncanny 
experience,  when  I  was  halted  by  a  cry  from  the 
deck  above. 

"  Hard  to  starboard,  you  damned  fool.  Are 
you  trying  to  cut  her  in  two  amidship?  "  shouted 
the  second  mate. 

"  Hard  over  she  is,"  rang  out  from  the  man 
at  the  wheel. 

Instantly  I  was  on  deck.     The  second  mate 

107 


108  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

was  over  in  the  lee  mizzen-rigging.  "  What  is  it, 
Olsen?"  I  asked. 

"A  full-rigged  ship  away  two  points  on  the 
starboard  bow." 

To  the  man  at  the  wheel  I  said :  "  Put  your 
helm  down  and  pass  to  windward  of  him  before 
you  jibe  the  spanker  over,  or  you  will  knock  Hell 
out  of  these  old  sails."  Then  to  the  second  mate : 
"  Why  do  you  have  to  sail  all  over  the  ocean  to 
get  by  that  old  pea-soup  hulk?  Don't  you  see 
that  he  has  the  wind  free?  Luff  her  up  half  a 
point,"  I  ordered  the  wheel-man. 

We  passed  so  close  to  windward  that  we  took 
the  wind  out  of  his  lower  sails.  The  moon  was 
in  the  last  quarter,  and  we  could  see  plainly  the 
watch  on  her  deck,  and  hear  the  officer  swear  at 
the  helmsman,  saying: 

"Keep  her  off,  you  damned  sheep-herder,  or 
you  will  cut  that  mud-scow  in  two."  Then  he 
shouted  over  to  me :  "  It  is  the  captain  of  an 
Irish  locomotive  you  ought  to  be,  you  thick 
headed  pirate,  trying  to  run  us  down!  What's 
the  name  of  your  ship,  anyway?  " 

"  Hardship  loaded  with  Poverty,"  I  replied 
with  sarcasm. 


HIGHER  INTELLIGENCE  109 

As  we  passed  each  other  the  voice  of  the  angry 
officer  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  then  was  lost  in 
the  stilly  night  under  Southern  skies. 

I  was  amused  at  the  expression  of  the  officer 
on  board  of  the  Yankee  clipper,  when  he  spoke 
of  me  as  the  captain  of  an  Irish  locomotive. 
There  could  be  no  greater  insult  to  a  self-respect 
ing  sailorman  than  this  phrase.  It  means  that 
you  would  do  much  better  carrying  a  hod  or 
wheeling  a  wheelbarrow  than  handling  a  ship. 
I  had  sailed  in  those  down-east  ships  and  knew 
their  language.  They  never  intend  to  give  one 
inch  on  land  or  sea.  Hard  luck  indeed  for  the 
sailor  who  does  not  know  how  to  fight,  or  who 
shows  a  yellow  streak ! 

While  thus  meditating  on  the  cruelties  of  the 
old  oak  ships  and  thinking  what  wonderful  tales 
they  could  tell,  my  thoughts  were  suddenly  inter 
rupted  by  a  consciousness  of  fear.  Something 
warm  was  moving  about  my  feet.  On  looking 
down  I  beheld  Toby  rubbing  his  black  fur  against 
my  feet  and  legs.  .  .  . 

On  getting  my  position  of  ship  at  noon  today, 
I  noticed  the  crew  tiptoeing  around  as  if  they 
were  afraid  of  disturbing  some  sleeping  baby. 


110  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

I  spoke  to  Riley,  asking  what  all  the  hush  was 
about. 

"  Oh,  be  the  Lord,  sir,  it  is  getting  turrible  on 
this  auld  graveyard  of  a  ship.  Begorra,  we  are 
shure  av  it  now.  Auld  Charlie  seen  him  pranc 
ing  up  and  down  the  poop  deck  wid  a  poipe  in  his 
mouth.  Tis  turrible  days  we  be  having.  The 
cook  said  that  he  proved  it  himself  beyond  a 
question  of  a  doubt  that  the  old  bye  himself  is 
back  on  her." 

"Well,  Riley,  I  am  going  to  make  the  Old 
Man  show  down  tonight.  It  is  put  up  or  shut 
up  for  him."  Laughing  a  little  at  my  own  fan 
cies,  I  went  aft  to  the  Captain's  room,  and  sat 
down  to  watch,  to  continue  to  investigate  this 
mystery  that  was  so  upsetting  the  morals  of  the 
crew  as  to  endanger  their  efficiency. 

I  left  the  door  to  the  dining-room  half  open 
so  that  the  light  hung  from  the  center  of  the 
ceiling  threw  its  sickly  rays  into  the  room.  I 
could  hear  the  man  at  the  wheel  make  an  occa 
sional  move  with  his  feet.  Then  all  would  be 
still  again.  One  bell  rang, —  half-past  twelve. 

Suddenly  the  door  slammed  with  a  terrible 


HIGHER  INTELLIGENCE  111 

bang.  I  knew  that  there  was  no  draught  in  the 
Captain's  room  to  close  it  in  this  manner,  and  I 
must  confess  that  I  was  considerably  startled. 
Then  I  was  conscious  of  some  one  moving  a  small 
stool  that  stood  across  from  me,  over  towards 
the  safe  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  I  put  out  my 
hands  to  catch  the  visitor,  and  not  finding  any 
thing  but  air,  I  reached  out  and  pulled  the  door 
open. 

To  my  amazement,  the  stool  had  been  moved 
to  the  safe.  I  was  so  unnerved  by  this  that  my 
one  thought  was  to  get  away,  and  I  went  into 
the  dining-room,  and  unconsciously  lit  my  pipe. 
When  my  thoughts  sorted  themselves  it  became 
clear  to  me  that  I  had  been  singled  out  by  Des 
tiny  to  have  the  privilege  of  meeting  a  great  and 
new  and  unseen  Force.  If  this  were  so  great 
as  to  be  able  to  move  furniture  at  will,  why, 
thought  I,  could  it  not  be  harnessed  to  our  mate 
rial  uses?  Why  could  it  not  be  developed  to  get 
sails  and  discharge  cargoes?  Surely,  it  would 
revolutionize  the  forces  of  the  air  and  earth,  as 
we  know  them  now. 

While  these  thoughts  were  taking  shape  in  my 


112  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

mind,  I  was  brought  up  with  a  start  by  hearing 
three  loud  and  distinct  raps  on  the  door  of  the 
Captain's  room. 

I  shook  the  ashes  out  of  the  old  corn  cob  pipe, 
and  entered  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
me.  This  time  I  beheld  still  greater  marvels. 
At  the  head  of  the  Captain's  bed  appeared  a 
small  light,  giving  forth  no  rays,  but  moving 
around  in  the  direction  of  the  safe  at  the  foot 
of  the  bunk.  There  it  stopped  about  a  minute, 
then  moved  over  to  the  desk  and  gradually  dis 
appeared. 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  "  you  are  getting  too  much  for 
me.  Move  some  more  furniture  or  that  safe 
around  this  room  so  that  I  may  alight  upon  a 
plan  to  harness  your  great  power  to  hand  down 
to  future  ages." 

At  that  I  must  have  gone  to  sleep,  for  I  was 
conscious  of  nothing  more  until  I  heard  the  cook 
coming  aft  with  coffee.  He  was  anxious  to  hear 
my  experience  during  the  middle  watch.  I  told 
him  that  there  had  been  no  occurrence  that  was 
not  natural,  but  that  I  might  have  news  for  him 
soon. 

"  Steward,"  said  I,  "  tomorrow  is  Christmas 


HIGHER  INTELLIGENCE  113 

Day.  I  want  you  to  prepare  a  good  dinner  for 
all  hands." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  had  plum  pud 
ding  boiling  since  yesterday.  I  am  going  to 
open  a  few  cans  of  canned  turkey.  That,  with 
the  cove  oyster  soup  and  canned  carrots  will 
make  a  good  dinner.  I  have  had  a  little  hard 
luck  with  my  cake.  I  forgot  to  put  baking 
powder  in  it.  But  I  think  that  they  can  get 
away  with  it,  as  there  is  an  abundance  of  raisins 
in  it," 

Christmas  morning  at  half-past  twelve  found 
me  waiting  in  the  Captain's  room  listening  to 
rappings  on  the  desk.  At  times  these  were  loud 
and  then  again  very  weak.  I  opened  the  door 
and  turned  up  the  light  in  the  dining-room  so 
that  there  might  be  more  brightness  in  the  Cap 
tain's  room.  I  wanted  to  see  and  hear  whatever 
vibrations  might  be  caused  from  the  rappings. 
As  I  drew  near  the  writing  desk  the  rapping  was 
centered  on  the  middle  drawer.  Then  it  would 
move  to  a  smaller  drawer  on  the  right-hand  side 
and  tap  very  hard.  With  a  shout  of  joy  I  sprang 
to  the  light  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  lit  it, 

"  At  last,"  I  cried,  "  at  last  I  " 


114  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

I  was  satisfied  that  there  were  rats  in  these 
drawers,  and  in  order  that  they  should  not  get 
away  I  armed  myself  with  a  club.  I  started  to 
pull  out  the  smaller  drawer  very  carefully  so 
that  the  rodent  should  not  make  his  escape.  To 
my  astonishment  I  found  it  locked.  I  held  my 
ear  close  to  it,  but  could  not  hear  a  sound.  Then 
I  proceeded  to  open  the  middle  drawer  with  the 
same  caution,  but  found  it  open,  and  nothing  in 
it  but  a  small  bunch  of  keys.  My  curiosity  being 
aroused,  I  decided  to  look  for  the  key  on  this 
ring  that  would  open  the  smaller  drawer.  After 
many  trials  I  found  one  that  would  fit  the  lock 
and  on  opening  it  I  found,  neither  the  animal, 
which  in  spite  of  my  senses'  evidence  I  half 
expected  to  see  there,  nor  any  other  expected 
alternative,  but,  most  surprising  of  all,  a  pair  of 
tiny  baby-shoes  with  a  lock  of  yellow  hair,  tied 
with  pink  ribbon,  in  each  of  them. 

Back  of  the  shoes  was  a  jewel  box,  and  in  it  a 
wedding-ring.  Also,  wrapped  up  in  paper,  was 
a  will  made  by  our  late  Captain  two  days  before 
his  death.  This  stated  that  he  had  an  equity  in 
an  apartment  house  in  San  Francisco,  which  he 


HIGHER  INTELLIGENCE  115 

wanted  his  boys  to  have.  Evidently  he  had 
acquired  this  equity  during  his  last  visit  to  San 
Francisco.  It  also  stated  that  there  should  be 
no  delay  in  forwarding  this  will  to  the  above 
address  in  West  Berkeley,  California,  U.  S.  A. 

With  the  discovery  of  the  Captain's  treasures, 
this  essence  of  his  personality  so  revealed,  I  was 
carried  out  of  my  skepticism  for  the  moment, 
into  feeling  his  presence  beside  me,  waiting  for 
my  word  as  a  friend  awaits  the  voice  of  a  friend. 
Half  unconsciously  I  spoke  aloud:  "You  have 
shown  me,  and  I  shall  obey.  You  have  only  to 
call  upon  me.  Do  not  be  anxious  for  your  ship. 
I  will  tell  your  boys." 

"A  lonely,  lonely  Christmas,"  echoed  back 
vaguely,  whether  from  Beyond  or  from  the  store 
house  of  my  imagination,  I  do  not  know. 

As  I  replaced  his  things  and  started  for  the 
deck,  the  cook's  words  echoed  and  re-echoed  in 
my  memory,  "  Does  it  end  here?  " 

On  deck  Old  Charlie  was  steering.  Looking 
over  the  rail  at  the  log,  I  found  that  she  was  cut 
ting  the  distance  to  Suva  at  the  rate  of  nine 
knots  an  hour.  The  breeze  was  warm,  the  tur- 


116  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

quoise  sky  studded  with  diamond  stars ;  the  three 
especially  bright  ones  known  as  the  Sailors'  Yard 
were  shining  in  all  their  splendor. 

Away  to  the  south  the  Southern  Cross  twinkled 
and  glittered,  and  was  so  majestic  in  its  posi 
tion,  that  it  seemed  to  command  obedience  from 
all  other  celestial  bodies. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XIV    , 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  —  OUR  UNWILLING  GUEST  THE 
DOLPHIN 

While  gazing  into  the  Infinite,  analyzing  the 
experience  through  which  I  had  just  passed,  and 
wondering  where  lay  the  Land  of  Shadows,  my 
dreaming  was  suddenly  changed  to  material 
things  by  hearing  a  terrible  fight  in  the  fore  part 
of  the  ship.  Jumping  up  on  the  deck-load,  and 
running  forward,  I  could  hear  Kiley  shout: 

"  Club  him,  you  old  hen-catcher,  you,  before 
he  goes  through  the  hawsepipe.  That's  the  way, 
that's  the  way.  Shure,  bad  luck  to  you,  you 
have  missed  him.  Stand  back  there,  stand  back 
there,  let  me  have  at  him.  There  he  goes  again 
under  the  lumber.  Get  me  the  bar,  Pete.  Look 
out,  me  byes.  Shure  and  be  Hivins  out  he  comes 
again.  Strike  him  between  the  eyes,  Pete.  Give 
me  the  bar,  Pete.  Shure'n  you  couldn't  shtrike 
the  sheep  barn  you  was  raised  in." 

"  What's  all  this  row  about?  "  I  asked. 

117 


118  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"Ah,  shure,  sir,  it's  me  auld  friend  Neptune 
would  be  after  sendin'  us  a  Christmas  present. 
He  is  as  fine  a  bonita  as  iver  greased  a  mouth, 
but  it's  the  divil's  own  toime  we  have  had  sub- 
duin'  him." 

"  Bring  him  up  on  the  deck-load  and  let  us 
look  him  over." 

"  Riley,"  said  I,  when  they  had  the  great  fish 
stretched  out  before  us,  "  that  is  a  dolphin,  and 
no  bonita, —  notice  the  wedge-shaped  head,  and 
broad  tail.  No  doubt  he  was  cornered  by  a 
school  of  sword  fish,  and  this  fastest  fish  that 
swims  the  ocean  had  to  make  a  leap  for  life  by 
jumping  aboard  our  ship.  Bring  the  lantern 
here,  and  you  will  see  him  change  to  all  colors 
of  the  rainbow  while  he  is  dying,  another  proof 
that  he  is  a  dolphin,  that  is,  if  he  is  not  already 
dead." 

"  Be  Hivins,  and  it's  far  from  dead  he  is,  look 
at  the  gills  moving."  Surely  enough,  we  watched 
and  the  beautiful  colors  came,  brilliant  blue  and 
green  and  shaded  red,  and  again  I  wondered, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  the  passing  of  the 
human  life  there  might  be  just  such  a  color 
change,  invisible  to  those  who  are  left  behind. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  119 

Dismissing  these  thoughts  once  and  for  all 
from  my  mind,  I  entered  into  the  long  discussion 
incident  to  the  settlement  of  claims  on  the  dead 
dolphin,  as  to  who  had  discovered  him,  etc.,  etc. 
Broken-Nosed  Pete  was  sure  that  he  had  seen 
him  first,  very  much  to  the  disgust  of  Biley,  who, 
however,  could  not  deny  that  his  one  eye  was 
usually  cocked  to  windward. 

I  then  turned  to  the  men  and  told  them  that 
they  need  no  longer  be  afraid  of  the  ghost  in  the 
Captain's  cabin. 

Kiley  spoke  up :  "  And,  shure,  sir,  you  wasn't 
thinking  that  it  was  meself  that  was  scared?  " 

"  Why  do  you  carry  the  belaying-pin  aft  to  the 
wheel  with  you,  if  you  are  not  scared?  "  said 
Pete. 

"Go  wan,  you  broken-nosed  heathen,  it's  the 
likes  of  me  that  knows  the  likes  av  you.  You 
degraded  auld  beach-comber,  haven't  I  slept  in 
ivery  graveyard  from  Heath  Head  in  Ireland  to 
Sline  Head  in  Gal  way?  Divil  a  thing  did  I  see 
only  Mugglin's  goat." 

Riley  was  about  to  launch  away  with  Mulli 
gan's  goat  when  I  interrupted,  reassuring  them 
and  telling  them  that  there  was  no  need  of  carry- 


120  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

ing  belaying-pins  to  kill  the  ghost,  for  it  had 
departed  for  shores  unknown. 

"  Good  luck  to  it,"  said  Riley,  highly  pleased, 
"and  more  power  to  it.  And  shure  it  is  sinsi- 
ble  it  is  to  lave  on  this  howly  Christmas  morn 
ing.  I  remimber  one  time  on  an  auld  side- wheeler 
running  between  Dublin  and  London,  it  was 
twelve  o'clock  — " 

Riley's  story  was  cut  short  by  the  man  at  the 
wheel  ringing  eight  bells,  four  o'clock.  Pete 
went  off  to  clean  the  fish,  and  the  others  to  their 
watch  below,  while  I  turned  in,  leaving  Riley 
alone  with  his  side-wheeler. 

The  sentiment  of  Christmas  amongst  sailors 
on  the  sea  makes  it  a  day  of  strict  observances. 
No  work  is  done  outside  the  working  of  ship, 
which  is  steering  or  keeping  lookout.  There  is 
no  mat-making,  model-making  nor  patching  old 
clothes  in  their  watch  below.  They  dress  in 
their  best  clothes,  and  for  those  that  shave  a 
great  deal  of  time  is  spent  in  this  operation.  No 
stray  bristle  has  a  chance  to  escape  the  religious 
hand  of  a  sailor  on  a  day  like  this. 

It  is  also  a  day  of  letter-writing,  with  good 
intentions  of  forwarding  them  at  the  first  port, 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  121 

but  somehow  in  the  general  confusion  when  in 
port,  they  are  lost  in  a  whirlpool  of  excitement. 
Considering  a  sign  between  the  ^hip  and  the 
post  office  reading  "  Bass'  Ale/'  "  Black  and 
White  "  or  "  Guinness's  Stout/'  imagine  any  poor 
sailor  doing  his  duty  to  the  folks  at  home !  For 
the  momen^;  those  glaring  and  fascinating  signs 
are  home  to  him. 

But  today  is  too  full  of  sentiment  for  him  to 
think  of  alluring  public  houses  and  pretty  bar 
maids.  It  is  given  up  to  religious  thoughts  with 
a  firm  resolution  to  sin  no  more. 

The  spirit  of  the  day  had  even  taken  hold  of 
the  Socialist  cook.  In  serving  dinner  I  noticed 
that  he  had  on  a  clean  apron  and  a  white  jacket, 
a  great  concession  for  him.  I  was  much 
attracted  by  his  brogans,  which  were  much  too 
large,  and  had  a  fine  coating  of  stove  polish  to 
enhance  their  charm. 

"  Why  have  you  set  a  place  for  the  Captain, 
Steward?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh,  just  out  of  respect  for  him.  You  know 
he  wasn't  such  a  bad  man  after  all.  Beside,  it 
will  make  the  table  look  more  like  a  real  Christ 
mas  dinner.  You  can  just  suppose  that  your 


122  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

invited  guest  has  been  delayed,  and  you  can  go 
on  with  your  dinner." 

I  was  beginning  to  like  our  cook  more  and 
more.  It  seemed  that  beneath  the  hard  crust  of 
materialism,  there  was  something  very  like  love 
and  loyalty. 

The  German  noodle  soup,  the  canned  turkey, 
and  the  plum  pudding  to  top  off  with  was  a  very 
befitting  dinner  at  sea.  Of  course,  one  must 
not  indulge  too  freely  in  plum  pudding,  espe 
cially  when  its  specific  gravity  exceeds  that  of 
heavy  metals.  This  hypothesis  was  proven  to 
me  later  in  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CRIMP  AND  SAILOR  —  THE  COOK'S  MARXIAN 
EFFORT 

* 

The  cook  was  pleased  with  my  investigation 
of  the  Captain's  room.  "  Don't  you  know,"  said 
he,  "  I  was  impressed  with  the  unusual  sounds 
there?  I  was  beginning  to  relinquish  my  hold 
on  the  Material,  and  to  give  way  more  to  the 
unknown  and  unseen  things  of  life.  But  you 
can  see  that  we  are  all  creatures  of  imagination. 
There  are  no  limitations  to  it,  especially  with 
those  who  are  superstitious.  Now  I  can  plainly 
understand  how  such  sounds  could  be  produced 
by  rats,  just  as  you  say." 

He  took  his  stand  in  the  pantry,  and  continued, 
from  this  point  of  vantage.  "  It  is  a  shame,"  he 
shouted,  that  there  is  so  much  superstition  in  the 
world.  If  there  were  not  so  much,  the  capitalist 
wrould  not  have  the  opportunity  to  exploit  his 
ill-gotten  goods  on  the  highways  and  byways  of 
our  economic  system." 

123 


124  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Stirring  something  in  a  glass,  no  doubt  extract 
of  lemon,  he  tipped  it  to  his  lips  and  swallowed 
it  with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction. 

"  With  such  ignorance  in  the  world,"  he  said, 
"  how  are  we  to  combat  this  scourge  of  human 
ity?  Let  me  say  here,"  shaking  his  fist  at  me, 
"  the  only  solution  is  education  without  discrim 
ination.  With  this  useful  weapon  we  can  equal 
ize  the  scales  of  justice.  Without  it  we  continue 
to  be  slaves  to  the  old  and  new  masters.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  ignorance  and  superstition  of 
our  crew  forward.  While  they  are  hunting  for 
ghosts  the  parasites  are  picking  their  pockets. 
What  can  society  expect  of  them?  No  wonder 
they  are  a  prey  to  apparitions  at  sea  and  crimps 
ashore.  Once  we  were  homeward  bound  from 
New  Zealand  to  Frisco.  The  crew,  as  usual,  con 
sisted  of  many  nationalities.  She  carried  twenty- 
four  seamen  forward.  I  frequently  talked  to 
these  men  evenings  about  joining  the  Socialist 
Labor  Party,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  Captain. 
Well,  they  all  agreed  that  when  they  should  reach 
San  Francisco  they  would  join  the  organization. 
I  believe  that  they  really  intended  to,  but  you 
know  the  sailonnan  ashore  scents  the  rum  barrel, 


CRIMP  AND  SAILOR  125 

and  becomes  an  easy  prey  to  the  crimp  and 
boarding-house  runner.  Two  days  after  our 
arrival  in  that  wicked  city  we  were  paid  off  by 
the  U.  S.  Government.  I  wraited  until  the  last 
man  had  his  money.  '  Men/  said  I,  *  come  with 
me  to  our  hall  and  join  the  one  organization  that 
is  going  to  redeem  the  world.' 

"  The  crimp  runners  were  pretty  well  repre 
sented,  as  they  usually  are  wThen  a  ship  pays  off. 
They  tried  every  possible  means  to  entice  the  men 
away,  telling  them  that  they  would  not  have  to 
pay  for  room  or  board,  and  that  furthermore 
they  could  pick  their  own  ship  when  they  felt 
like  going  to  sea  again.  The  latter  is  considered 
a  great  concession  to  a  sailor.  But  the  crimps 
do  not  stop  there.  They  have  old  sailors  who 
are  kept  with  them  for  years,  who  make  it  their 
business  to  know  as  many  as  possible  of  the  men 
who  follow  the  sea.  We  had  an  Irishman  in  the 
crew,  and  this  lost  the  day  for  me.  Just  as  we 
started  for  the  hall,  out  of  the  crowd  strolled 
a  seasoned  veteran  of  the  sea.  With  a  shout  of 
joy  he  fell  upon  one  of  our  crew,  crying: 

" '  If  me  eyes  don't  deceive  me,  I  see  Jamey 
Dugan.  Dead  or  alive,  I  shake  hands  with  you.' 


126  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"Whether  Dugan  knew  the  greasy  beach 
comber  or  not,  I  knew  that  the  bunko  steering 
talk  would  get  him.  It  was  very  flowery. 

"  '  Why,  certainly,  you  remember  me.  In  Val 
paraiso.  You  were  in  the  good  old  ship  so-and- 
so.' 

"  I  could  see  that  there  was  no  time  to  lose  if 
I  expected  to  reach  the  hall  with  all  of  them. 
I  mounted  a  fire-hydrant  near  by,  and  pleaded 
with  them,  telling  them  that  this  crook  who  had 
hold  of  them  was  nothing  but  a  hireling  of  the 
crimp,  and  tomorrow,  all  of  their  money  being 
spent,  they  would  most  likely  be  shipped  off  to 
sea  in  any  old  tub  whose  master  offered  the  most 
money  to  the  boarding-house  keeper. 

"  My  pleading  was  in  vain.  They  kept  edging 
away  as  if  I  were  a  wild  beast  of  the  jungle. 
The  influence  of  the  gangster  was  getting 
stronger.  Again  I  beseeched  and  implored  these 
men  of  the  sea  to  come  with  me.  They  only 
started  to  move  away.  It  was  with  a  sickened 
heart  that  I  stepped  down  from  the  hydrant.  I 
had  no  chance  with  this  barnacle  of  the  sea,  for 
they  were  already  starting  in  his  wake  for  Ryan's 
saloon  across  the  street." 


CRIMP  AND  SAILOR  127 

The  cook,  lamenting  his  loss,  started  to  stir  up 
another  lemon-de-luxe.  Taking  advantage  of 
the  opportunity,  I  stole  up  on  deck  to  relieve  the 
second  mate  for  dinner.  He  must  have  thought 
that  I  had  foundered  on  the  noodle  soup  and 
plum-pudding. 

The  cook  and  I  may  not  altogether  have  agreed 
on  the  social  things  of  life,  but  I  was  with  him 
heart  and  soul  in  his  fight  for  better  and  cleaner 
conditions  for  sailors  ashore.  I,  too,  know  the 
crimps,  and  had  suffered  more  than  once  from 
their  dastardly  methods  of  making  money. 

They  were  always  on  the  lookout  for  anything 
that  resembled  a  sailor  when  a  ship  was  ready 
to  sail,  and  a  short-handed  captain  would  offer 
one  of  them  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars  a  head 
blood-money.  With  that  would  go  from  one  to 
two  months'  advance  in  wages  to  the  unfortunate 
victim,  which  eventually  fell  into  the  crimp's 
hands  also.  He  would  not  stop  even  at  murder 
if  necessary  to  fill  the  required  quota. 

What  if  he  did  ship  a  dead  man  or  two? 
They  were  not  supposed  to  awake  for  at  least 
twenty-four  hours  after  they  were  brought 
aboard.  By  that  time  they  were  under  way,  and 


128  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

the  curses  of  the  captain  were  lost  in  sheeting 
home  the  upper  topsails. 

The  mate,  on  the  other  hand,  took  a  lively 
interest  in  restoring  the  sleeper  to  life.  After 
he  had  spent  some  time  clubbing  him,  and  try 
ing  every  method  known  to  the  hard-boiled  mates 
of  former  times,  he  would  find  a  belaying-pin, 
and  beat  the  drugged  man  on  the  soles  of  his 
shoes.  This  was  the  final  test.  If  he  did  not 
respond  to  it,  the  officer  would  report  to  the 
captain  that  one  of  the  crew  who  had  just  come 
aboard  was  dead.  Cursing  and  swearing,  the 
captain  would  say :  "  How  do  you  know  that  he 
is  dead?" 

"  Well,  Captain,  I  have  awakened  a  great  many 
of  them  in  my  time,  and  there  isn't  a  kick  in  this 
fellow." 

"  Did  you  try  the  mirror?  " 

Holding  the  mirror  at  his  mouth,  to  see 
whether  by  chance  there  might  be  precipitation 
was  the  last  act.  It  would  never  occur  to  them 
to  feel  for  the  pulse,  probably  because  their  hands 
were  too  heavily  calloused  to  permit  of  it.  Fur 
thermore,  it  would  never  do  to  lower  the  mate's 


CRIMP  AND  SAILOR  129 

dignity  in  the  presence  of  the  crew  by  so  gracious 
an  act. 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not  tried  tbe  mirror  yet.  I 
am  thinking  that  you  have  booked  a  losing." 

"  Booked  Hell,"  the  captain  would  shout, 
"  Here,  take  this  drink  of  brandy  and  pour  it 
into  him,  then  hold  the  mirror  over  his  mouth. 
If  that  doesn't  work,  throw  him  overboard." 

Those  who  were  shanghaied  were  not  usually 
sailors.  One  would  find  tailors,  sheep-herders, 
waiters  and  riff-raff  of  the  slums,  who  had  fallen 
prey  to  the  greed  of  the  boarding-house  keeper. 

When  one  did  respond  to  the  mate's  treatment, 
he  would  awake  to  a  living  Hell,  until  the  next 
port  was  reached,  which  would  take  three,  four 
or  even  five  months. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  —  A  HORSE-MARINE 
ADVENTURE 

There  are  instances  where  the  Captain  and 
mates  of  the  old  time  sailing  ships  have  had 
cause  to  regret  their  methods  of  procuring  sailors 
from  the  crimps. 

When  a  drugged  and  shanghaied  sailor  comes 
on  board  the  mate  looks  him  over  for  dangerous 
weapons. 

If  he  has  a  sheath  knife  the  mate  breaks  the 
point  off.  If  a  gun,  he  takes  it  aft  to  the  Cap 
tain.  When  the  drug-crazed  man  comes  to  he  is 
easy  to  handle.  If  he  should  show  fight,  a  crack 
over  the  head  with  a  belaying-pin  will  send  him 
down  and  out.  When  the  stars  disappear  and 
he  comes  back  to  earth  again,  he  is  very  respon 
sive,  and  willing  to  scrub  decks  or  anything  else 
that  is  desired  of  him. 

A  ^Montana  cowboy,  seeing  the  sights  in  a 
Pacific  port,  fell  a  prey  to  the  crimps.  Blood 

130 


THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  131 

money  was  high.  One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
was  not  to  be  laughed  at,  when  it  could  be  had 
so  easily.  The  cowboy  was  given  the  usual  dose 
of  knock-out  drops,  then  thrown  into  a  boat,  and 
rowed  off  to  the  ship,  which  was  lying  at  anchor. 
When  the  boat  came  alongside  the  ship,  the 
crimp  shouted :  "  Ahoy,  Mr.  Mate,  I  have  a  good 
sailor  for  you." 

The  mate  never  expected  shanghaied  men  to 
walk  up  the  gangway.  He  knew  what  to  expect, 
and  usually  gave  them  the  allotted  time,  about 
twenty-four  hours,  to  sleep  the  drug  off. 

"Are  you  sure  he  is  a  good  sailor?  "  said  the 
mate. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  crimp,  "  he  is  an  old- 
time  sailor,  we  have  known  him  for  years.  He 
has  been  sailing  to  this  port  in  some  of  the  best 
ships  afloat." 

The  mate  called  some  members  of  the  crew 
to  get  the  tackle  over  the  side  and  yank  him 
aboard.  The  cowboy  was  heavy,  and  he  did  not 
yank  aboard  as  easily  as  some  of  the  other 
drugged  men,  very  much  to  the  astonishment  of 
the  old-time  sailors. 

They  know  by  the  weight  on  the  tackle  fall  how 


132  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

to  guess  what  the  vocation  ashore  has  been 
of  this  latest  addition  to  their  number.  If  the 
drugged  man  is  a  light-weight,  he  is  proclaimed 
a  tailor,  if  medium  weight  he  is  a  sheep-herder, 
and  so  on. 

But  they  could  not  find  a  suitable  vocation  for 
this  cowboy  who  was  so  damned  heavy.  After 
long,  long  pulls,  and  strong,  strong  pulls,  he 
landed  on  deck  as  limp  as  a  rag.  The  mate, 
rolled  him  over  with  his  foot,  and  seeing  that  he 
had  no  weapons  of  any  kind  ordered  him  thrown 
on  the  hatch  to  sleep  it  off. 

The  crimp  had  relieved  him  of  the  cowboy 
hat,  but  not  the  riding  shoes,  very  much  to  the 
disgust  of  the  mate,  who  remarked: 

"  I  have  sailed  in  many  ships  and  with  all 
kinds  of  sailors,  but  I  will  go  to  Hell  if  I  ever 
saw  a  sailor  with  as  long  heels  on  his  boots  as 
this  fellow  has." 

Nevertheless  he  impressed  the  mate  as  being  a 
sailor.  He  had  the  desert  and  mountain  rugged- 
ness  and  complexion,  and  not  the  sallow  dyspep 
tic  look  of  the  tailor,  which  mates  and  crew 
despise  so.  When  the  anchor  was  up,  and  they 


THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  133 

were  standing  out  to  sea,  the  mate  undertook  to 
awake  the  cowboy  with  a  force  pump. 

After  the  salt  water  had  been  played  on  him 
about  five  minutes,  he  awoke,  and  realized  that 
he  was  on  board  of  a  ship.  He  inquired  of  the 
mate  how  he  got  aboard,  and  where  he  was  going. 
The  mate  answered  him  very  sharply,  saying : 

"  You  get  up,  damn  quick,  and  loose  the  main- 
upper-topgallant-sail  if  you  want  to  get  along 
well  and  happy  in  this  ship." 

He  might  have  been  talking  the  dead  languages 
for  all  the  cowboy  knew  about  upper-topgallant- 
sails.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  pulling  himself 
together  realized  that  this  was  not  a  dream  after 
all,  but  a  stern  reality.  After  looking  over  the 
ship  and  feeling  the  roll,  he  eyed  the  mate  with 
suspicion,  saying :  "  See  here,  stranger,  haven't 
you  made  a  mistake?  Tell  me  how  I  came 
aboard  this  here  ship." 

The  mate  thought  the  new  sailor  was  having  a 
joke  at  his  expense.  Stepping  up  to  him  he  said, 
"  Damn  you,  don't  you  dare  to  joke  with  me,  or 
I  will  break  every  bone  in  your  body." 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  stranger,"  said  the  cowboy, 


134  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

"  I  want  you  to  turn  this  here  thing  around 
'cause  I  must  be  a  hitting  the  trail." 

This  was  too  much  for  any  good  mate  to  stand, 
especially  when  the  members  of  the  crew  were 
highly  pleased  with  the  new  sailor's  remark. 
The  mate  pulled  off  his  pea-jacket,  and  tighten 
ing  his  belt,  remarked: 

"  I  guess  I  will  teach  you  how  to  respect  your 
superiors  while  you  are  on  board  this  ship." 

The  cowboy,  seeing  that  the  mate  meant  busi 
ness,  pulled  off  his  wet  coat  and  vest,  also  the 
black  silk  handkerchief  that  was  tied  in  a  very 
fashionable  knot  around  his  neck  and  remarked, 
"  Stranger,  you  be  mighty  keerful  how  many 
bones  you  break  in  my  body." 

Here  the  mate  made  a  lunge  for  him,  which  the 
boy  ducked,  and  with  an  upper-cut  he  sent  the 
mate  to  the  deck  in  a  heap.  The  mate  got  up 
and  started  for  a  belaying  pin.  The  crafty 
range  rider  was  upon  him  in  a  second  with  a 
left  hook  to  the  jaw.  The  mate  went  down,  and 
stayed  down  for  some  time.  Then  the  second 
mate,  third  mate  and  captain  came  to  the  rescue 
of  their  first  mate.  The  mates  were  knocked 
down  as  fast  as  they  could  get  up.  The  Captain 


THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  135 

called  the  crew  saying,  "Arrest  this  man  and 
put  him  in  irons  for  mutiny  on  the  high  seas." 

This  the  crew  refused  to  do,  because  the  way 
this  new  sailor  could  use  his  hands  was  not  at  all 
to  their  liking,  and  they  were  not  anxious  to  take 
on  any  rough  stuff  so  early  on  the  voyage. 

The  Captain,  flushed  with  rage,  ran  to  the 
cabin  shouting: 

"  I  will  get  my  gun  and  kill  this  mutineer." 
The  mates  picked  themselves  up  and  the  two 
went  after  guns.  The  cowboy,  turning  to  the 
sailors,  said : 

"  Here,  you  critters,  get  behind  a  sage  bush  or 
something, —  get  out  of  range  and  get  out 
damned  quick,  for  there  is  going  to  be  Hell  shot 
out  of  this  here  ship  in  about  a  minute."  Reach 
ing  down  in  his  riding  boots  he  pulled  out  two 
forty-fives  and  backed  over  to  the  starboard  bul 
warks  to  await  the  signal  from  the  cabin. 

He  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  The  Captain 
came  roaring  up  the  companionway,  thinking 
that  the  new  sailor  at  the  sight  of  the  gun  would 
run  and  get  under  cover.  But  not  so  with  this 
one,  far  from  it.  There  he  stood,  a  plain  and 
visible  target  for  the  Captain's  and  mate's  guns. 


136  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

While  the  Captain  was  running  along  the  lee 
alleyway  of  the  bridge-deck,  the  cowboy  called 
to  him,  saying: 

"  Can  you  kill  from  the  hip,  Mister?  If  you 
can't  you'd  better  get  close  and  shoot  straight." 

The  Captain  was  too  angry  to  utter  a  sound. 
It  was  bad  enough  to  knock  his  three  mates  down 
and  out,  without  heaping  insult  upon  insult  by 
asking  if  he  could  shoot  straight.  The  blow  he 
had  got  on  the  jaw  from  this  untamed  sailor  he 
considered  enough  to  justify  him  in  killing  on 
sight  anyway,  for  it  would  be  days  before  he 
could  bring  his  jaws  together  on  anything  harder 
than  pea  soup  or  bread  pudding. 

With  these  maddening  thoughts  twitching  his 
nautical  brow,  he  swung  from  the  bridge-deck 
onto  the  main  deck.  There  in  front  of  him  stood 
the  new  mariner  leaning  against  the  bulwarks 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back.  The  Captain's 
gun  was  swinging  at  arm's  length  in  the  right 
hand,  but  not  pointed  toward  the  cowboy. 

This  code  of  ethics  pleased  the  cowboy,  for  he 
remarked  to  the  Captain :  "  Kemember  you  draw 
first,  and  if  you  have  any  message  for  the  folks  at 
home  now  is  the  time  to  send  it." 


THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  137 

Hearing  the  mates  coming,  the  Captain  took 
courage,  and  raised  his  gun  as  if  to  shoot,  when 
a  shot  rang  out  and  his  right  arm  fell  limply  to 
his  side.  With  a  spring  of  a  wild  animal  the 
cowboy  changed  for  a  new  position.  He  jumped 
onto  the  main  hatch,  where  he  could  command 
a  view  of  the  ship  fore  and  aft.  No  sooner  had 
he  changed  to  his  new  position,  than  the  mates 
appeared  on  the  main  deck  and  ordered  him  in 
the  King's  name  to  surrender  or  take  the  con 
sequences. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  your  kings," 
remarked  the  cowboy,  "  but  I  do  know  I'm  going 
back  to  my  ole  horse  and  I'm  going  mighty 
quick.  Let  me  tell  you,  strangers,  I  want  you 
to  turn  this  here  ship  back.  I'll  give  you  five 
minutes  to  make  up  your  minds." 

The  Captain  broke  the  silence  by  ordering  the 
ship  back  to  port,  saying,  to  save  his  dignity, 
that  he  could  never  go  to  sea  wounded  as  he  was, 
and  was  also  anxious  to  bring  this  sailor  to  the 
bar  of  justice  for  mutiny  and  attempted  murder 
on  the  high  seas. 

"  Before  you  obey  the  orders  of  your  boss 
here,"  said  the  cowboy,  addressing  the  crew,  "  I 


138  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

want  jour  guns.  You  know  it  is  dangerous  for 
children  like  you  to  be  handling  something  you 
don't  know  much  about." 

Evidently  the  Captain  was  in  great  pain,  for 
he  commanded  the  mates  to  give  up  their  weap 
ons,  which  they  did  very  reluctantly  after  the 
ship  had  tacked  and  stood  in  for  port  again.  To 
make  matters  worse,  the  cowboy  walked  the 
weather  side  of  the  bridge-deck,  and  practically 
commanded  the  ship  until  she  dropped  anchor. 

Then  the  police  boat  came  off  and  took  captain, 
mates  and  cowboy  ashore  to  the  hall  of  justice, 
where  the  new  sailor  put  a  kink  in  the  crimp, 
sending  him  for  five  years  to  the  penitentiary  for 
drugging  and  shanghaing  him.  He  also  caused 
the  Captain  and  first  mate  to  exchange  their 
comfortable  quarters  aboard  ship  for  uneasy  cells 
in  jail;  six  months  for  the  mate  and  a  year  for 
the  Captain.  .  .  . 

The  old  Hell  Ships  have  passed  away  into  the 
murky  horizon,  to  be  seen  no  more,  and  with 
them  have  gone  the  old  sailors,  some  to  the  Land 
of  Shadow,  others  to  pass  their  remaining  years 
working  ashore,  and  many  to  that  most  coveted 


THE  MONTANA  COWBOY  139 

place  on  earth,  Snug  Harbor.  A  new  age  has 
dawned  upon  the  mariner  of  today.  He  sails 
on  ocean  greyhounds,  where  there  are  no  yards 
to  square,  no  topsails,  no  tiller  ropes  to  steer 
with.  He  doesn't  have  to  sail  four  years  before 
the  mast  to  learn  how  to  become  a  sailor.  Steam, 
the  simplified,  has  made  it  pleasant  and  easy  for 
him.  He  no  longer  requires  the  tin  plate  and 
hook  pot,  nor  has  he  any  place  for  the  donkey's 
breakfast.  (The  latter  used  to  be  supplied  by 
the  crimp  and  consisted  of  a  handful  of  straw 
tucked  into  a  cheap  bed  tick ;  that  was  the  sailor's 
bed  in  the  old  days. ) 

Today  he  is  supplied  with  everything  neces 
sary  for  his  comfort,  even  to  five  hundred  cubic 
feet  of  air  space,  and  food  as  good  as  he  was  likely 
to  get  ashore. 

The  cracker  or  hardtack  hash  was  an  art  years 
ago,  and  required  the  skill  of  a  French  chef.  It 
is  even  possible  that  the  French  chef  would  not 
have  scorned  what  the  old  sailor  discarded  in 
making  this  sumptuous  repast.  The  first  proc 
ess  of  this  delicious  dish  was  to  economize  for 
days  to  save  enough  hardtack.  Secondly,  it  was 
necessary  for  it  to  soak  at  least  forty-eight  hours. 


140  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

By  that  time  you  were  sure  that  all  living  crea 
tures  had  forsaken  their  pleasant  abode  for  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  or  a  swim  around  the  hook  pot. 

When  you  were  satisfied  that  the  hardtack 
was  malleable,  you  would  mix  in  what  salt  horse 
you  could  spare  without  stinting  yourself  too 
much,  and  anything  else  that  happened  to  be 
around.  Then  came  the  supreme  task,  getting  a 
concession  from  the  cook  to  bake  it.  It  required 
much  study  as  to  how  to  approach  the  "  Doctor," 
for  this  was  his  title  in  important  functions. 
Should  he  be  so  generous  with  you  as  to  grant 
an  interview  for  this  noble  concession,  you  were 
to  be  complimented,  and  considered  in  line  for 
promotion  to  the  black  pan.  It  is  only  a  brother 
in  death  that  could  share  the  remnants  from  the 
Captain's  table.  Hence  the  black  pan. 

The  sailor  of  today  no  longer  need  covet  the 
crumbs  from  the  captain's  table,  he  is  fed  a  la 
carte  and  waited  on  by  uniformed  waiters;  even 
his  salary  is  more  than  captains  received  twenty 
to  thirty  years  ago  in  sailing  ships. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  FRAGRANT  SMELL  OF  THE  ALLURING  PALMS 

Away  to  the  westward  the  sun  was  sinking 
into  the  deep,  with  small  fleecy  clouds  guarding 
the  last  bright  quivering  rays  as  if  giving  a  sig 
nal  to  make  ready  for  the  lovely  night.  So 
Christmas  had  come  and  departed  with  the  set 
ting  of  the  sun. 

I  was  thinking  of  him  who  had  also  departed 
so  suddenly  to  the  land  of  eternal  rays,  and  won 
dered  if  the  great  Nazarene  should  not  have  said, 
"  Peace  to  those  who  have  passed  away,  and  good 
will  to  those  whom  they  have  left  behind." 

For  the  next  ten  days  the  wind  held  steady, 
and  one  could  see  from  the  restlessness  of  the 
crew,  particularly  Dago  Joe,  that  we  were  near- 
ing  land.  I  had  sent  a  man  aloft  to  see  if  he 
could  pick  up  Wallingallala  Light.  I  was  sure 
that  if  our  chronometer  was  right  we  should 
pick  it  up  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I 

141 


142  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

decided  to  sail  through  Namuka  Passage,  thereby 
cutting  off  the  distance  to  Suva  about  three 
hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Otherwise  it  would  be 
necessary  to  sail  to  the  southward  of  the  Archi 
pelago,  and  the  danger  of  the  latter  course  was 
the  southeast  trades,  which  usually  die  out  twenty 
degrees  south  of  the  Equator. 

As  Suva  lay  18°  22',  I  was  sure  I  could  hold 
the  wind  through  the  Passage,  if  I  could  keep 
away  from  the  uncharted  coral  reefs  which 
are  so  dangerous  to  navigation  among  those 
islands.  At  half-past  three  in  the  morning 
Broken-Nosed  Pete  sang  out  from  the  foretop, 
"A  light  on  the  port  bow."  I  took  the  binocu 
lars  and  ran  up  the  mizzen-rigging.  There  was 
the  long-looked-for  light. 

I  changed  the  course  after  getting  bearings  on 
the  light,  and  headed  her  for  Namuka  Passage. 
After  entering  the  Passage  it  was  necessary  to 
change  our  course  from  time  to  time,  and  this 
had  to  be  done  by  log  and  chart,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  projecting  reefs  which  jutted  out  from  the 
island.  Many  of  these  reefs  extend  from  three 
to  five  miles  from  each  island.  The  navigator 
never  loses  his  position  of  ship,  and  great  care 


THE  FRAGRANT  SMELL  143 

must  be  taken  in  making  allowances  for  cur 
rents. 

About  six  o'clock  we  were  well  into  the  Pas 
sage  and  abreast  of  Boscowen  Island,  better 
known  as  Cap  Island.  Away  to  the  southwest 
lay  Vite  Vuva,  which  was  the  island  we  were 
bound  for.  The  wind  was  freshening,  and  when 
passing  an  island  great  gusts  of  wind  would 
swoop  on  us,  which  made  it  necessary  to  take  in 
our  staysails. 

The  fragrant  smell  of  the  alluring  palms  was 
beginning  to  fascinate  the  crew,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  Kiley,  who  wore  a  rather  troubled  look. 
When  I  asked  him  if  he  was  sick  he  replied  in 
the  negative,  "  Sick  would  you  have  me?  Shur'n 
the  divil  a  bit  is  it  sick  I  am.  Auld  Charlie  has 
been  telling  me  it's  cannibals  there  are  on  these 
islands,  but  shure  I  don't  belave  a  wurd  that  old 
wharf  rat  says." 

"  Well,  Eiley,"  said  I,  "  Charlie  may  be  right. 
No  doubt  somewhere  in  these  islands  there  may 
lurk  a  few  sturdy  savages  who  wouldn't  hesitate 
a  moment  to  recommend  that  a  man  like  you  be 
cooked  and  served  table  d'hote  at  one  of  their 
moonlight  festivals.  They  much  prefer  the  white 


144  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

meat  to  the  dark,  and  you  will  admit  there  are 
some  choice  pieces  in  you." 

•  "  There  are,  me  bye,  but  I'll  be  keeping  meself 
intact  and  the  divil  a  man-eater  will  iver  lay  a 
tooth  in  me,  if  Michael  Dennis  Riley  knows  any 
thing." 

"  Stay  close  to  the  ship,"  said  I,  "  and  don't 
wander  too  far  afield  and  I  doubt  if  there  is  much 
danger,  as  long  as  you  keep  sober  and  have  your 
eye  peeled  to  windward." 

"  Be  Hiven,  sor,  and  that  is  what  I  will  be 
doing.  As  for  keeping  sober,  shure  and  that  is 
aisy  for  me.  It  is  only  on  rare  occasions  that 
I  ever  take  a  drop  of  the  crayture.  Begorra,  and 
it's  the  pledge  I'll  be  taking  while  I'm  amongst 
these  heathen." 

The  speed  we  were  making  did  not  encourage 
me  in  the  least.  We  were  logging  eleven  knots, 
and  if  she  kept  this  up  we  would  be  off  Suva 
Harbor  about  two-thirty  in  the  morning;  then 
it  would  be  necessary  to  lie  off  Suva  till  the  pilot 
came  aboard  some  time  during  the  forenoon. 
The  chart  showed  it  was  about  seven  miles  from 
the  entrance  of  the  channel  between  the  coral 
reefs  to  the  harbor.  As  there  were  no  tug-boats 


THE  FRAGRANT  SMELL  145 

here,  I  figured  that  by  the  time  the  pilot  rowed 
off  to  where  I  should  be  in  the  offing,  it  would 
indeed  be  late  in  the  morning.  But  I  was  much 
worried  at  having  to  spend  a  night  dodging  these 
dangerous  reefs  wThich  wrere  not  even  marked  by 
a  bell-buoy. 

Towards  evening,  while  passing  between  two 
islands,  the  wind  fell  very  light.  The  channel 
was  narrow,  and  it  looked  for  a  time  as  if  we 
were  in  danger  of  drifting  onto  the  south  reef 
of  Vite  Vuva  Island.  What  little  breeze  there 
was  carried  to  our  ears  the  enchanting  voices  of 
the  natives  singing  their  island  songs.  The  cook 
was  coaxing  Toby  to  indulge  in  age-old  brisket, 
but  without  success,  and  turning  to  me  he  said, 
"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  our  world  isn't  full  of 
song  and  laughter  like  that  of  these  happy 
natives.  Their  day  of  toil  is  over,  and  with  it 
comes  the  song  of  happiness.  There  are  no  land 
lords  here  to  dispossess  you,  no  licensed  thugs 
hired  by  crooked  corporations  to  club  you  while 
you  are  working  for  the  interest  of  the  down 
trodden.  I  tell  you  that  some  day  the  world  will 
be  just  such  a  place  to  live  in  as  these  isles,  no 
worries,  no  troubles  and  damned  little  work." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SUVA  HARBOR  —  THE  KEEF  AND  THE 
LIGHTHOUSES 

As  we  nosed  by  the  reef,  and  got  the  island 
on  our  beam,  the  wind  came  to  our  rescue,  and 
with  staysails  set  I  laid  a  course  for  Suva  Har 
bor.  At  one  o'clock  we  picked  up  Suva  lights, 
the  two  lighthouses  which  marked  the  entrance 
to  the  harbor.  One  light  is  about  on  sea  level, 
the  other  has  an  altitude  of  some  two  hundred 
feet,  being  back  and  up  the  hill  and  in  direct  line 
with  the  first.  When  these  two  lights  bear  due 
north  you  have  the  channel  course  into  Suva 
Harbor. 

When  I  had  these  lights  in  range  I  decided  to 
run  in  and  take  a  chance,  rather  than  stay  out 
and  wait  for  the  pilot.  Another  reason  why  I 
was  anxious  to  get  in  was  that  the  barometer 
was  falling  and  it  looked  like  rain.  This  being 
the  hurricane  season,  I  was  not  at  all  pleased 

J40 


SUVA  HARBOR  147 

with  the  mackerel  skies  of  the  early  morning. 
The  channel  is  very  narrow  between  the  reefs, 
and  great  care  must  be  taken  in  steering  one's 
course. 

After  jibing  her  over  and  pointing  her  into 
the  channel,  I  had  Broken-Nosed  Pete  take  the 
wheel,  with  instructions  that  if  he  got  off  the 
course  his  neck  would  be  twisted  at  right  angles 
to  his  nose.  Pete  was  a  good  helmsman,  and 
could  be  trusted  in  close  quarters  like  those  we 
were  about  to  sail  through. 

Until  we  passed  into  the  harbor  my  interest  in 
the  schooner  "  Wampa  "  could  be  had  for  a  song. 
With  waves  breaking  on  either  side  of  us  as  we 
were  passing  through,  and  expecting  every 
moment  to  strike  the  reef,  moments  seemed  like 
centuries,  and  not  to  me  alone.  The  only  sound 
that  came  from  the  crew  was  from  Riley,  and  he 
did  not  intend  it  for  my  ears. 

The  noise  of  the  breakers  to  windward  was 
not  so  bad  for  Riley  and  his  one  eye,  but  to 
have  it  repeated  on  his  blind  side  was  asking  too 
much  of  an  honest  sailor.  He  shouted  to  Old 
Charlie,  "  Glory  be  to  God,  Charlie,  and  it's 
drowned  we  will  be  in  sight  of  land.  In  the 


148  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

name  of  the  Father,  what  made  him  attempt  it 
on  a  night  like  this?  Look,  look,  Holy  Saint 
Patrick,  look  at  the  breakers.  Ah,  and  it's  high 
and  dry  we'll  be.  Bad  luck  to  the  day  I  ever 
set  foot  on  this  auld  barge!  She  isn't  fit  for  a 
dog  to  sail  in." 

The  harbor  end  of  the  reef  was  marked  by  a 
light  on  a  small  cutter,  which  was  so  dim  that 
one  would  almost  have  to  have  a  light  to  find 
it.  After  rounding  this  insignificant  light  we 
had  deep  water  and  a  large  harbor. 

Just  as  day  was  breaking  we  dropped  anchor, 
after  an  eventful  voyage  of  fifty-four  days  from 
Puget  Sound.  At  eight  o'clock  an  East  Indian 
doctor  came  on  board,  and  lining  the  crew  up 
for  inspection,  required  every  man  to  put  out 
.  his  tongue.  From  the  looks  of  the  above-men 
tioned  he  seemed  pleased  wTith  the  health  of  the 
crew.  He  left,  after  looking  over  the  official  log 
book  to  make  sure  that  the  Captain  had  not  been 
murdered. 

The  customs  men  followed  him  aboard,  and 
being  assured  that  we  were  not  pirates,  departed 
to  where  the  brandy  and  soda  offered  a  more 
tempting  interest.  As  I  expected,  the  pilot  came 


SUVA  HARBOR  149 

alongside  about  nine-thirty,  very  much  disgusted 
to  think  that  I  should  dare  to  run  the  channel 
without  the  guidance  of  his  steady  head  and 
hand. 

Had  he  not  been  here  for  fifteen  years  doing 
this  work  which  required  skill  and  courage,  pilot 
ing  ships  of  all  nations  into  and  out  of  this  dan 
gerous  channel?  What  was  it  to  him  (with  a 
clinking  glass),  whether  the  conversation  took 
the  shape  of  the  battle  of  Balaclava  or  the  bom 
bardment  of  Alexandria?  Let  the  ships  lay  in 
the  offing  and  await  his  pleasure.  They  were 
helpless  without  him,  and  must  await  his  guid 
ance  to  reach  safe  anchorage. 

He  scrambled  over  the  side,  and  adjusting  his 
monocle  to  look  me  over,  said  in  an  accent  that 
would  make  a  cockney  cab-driver  take  to  honest 
toil,  "Ahem,  ahem,  where  is  your  captain?" 

"  He  is  somewhere  around  the  Equator  in  145° 
west  longitude,"  I  said.  "  Ow,  ow,  I  see.  He 
abandoned  the  ship,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  he  left  much  against  his  will. 
It  is  rather  strange,  is  it  not?" 

"  Well,  I'll  be  blowed  to  think  he  should  have 
departed  in  this  manner." 


150  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Riley,  who  was  coiling  down  the  main  boom 
tackle  fall,  was  more  interested  in  the  English 
pilot  than  in  coiling  ropes.  The  last  remark  of 
the  pilot  re-echoed  back  from  him  in  words  not 
befitting  this  high  command. 

"  Shur'n  it's  more  av  them  that  ought  to  be 
laying  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  a  mill  stone 
around  their  neck." 

The  way  Kiley's  one  eye  would  alternate  from 
the  pilot  to  the  little  town  across  the  harbor, 
and  the  way  his  lips  twitched  suggested  to  me 
what  was  going  on  in  his  mind.  To  think  he  had 
sailed  seventy-five  hundred  miles  to  find  a  speci 
men  like  this !  "  To  hell  with  the  pledge  and 
Cannibal  Isles,  isn't  the  sight  of  this  enough  to 
drive  any  poor  Irishman  into  swearing  allegiance 
to  John  Barleycorn  for  the  rest  of  his  life?  " 


INTRODUCING  CAPTAIN  KANE,  MRS.  FAGAN  AND 
MRS.  FAGAN'S  BAR 

After  convincing  the  pilot  of  the  Captain's 
death,  I  was  given  a  severe  reprimand  for  com 
ing  into  the  harbor  alone.  When  he  went  ashore 
I  had  the  small  boat  lowered,  and,  putting  on  a 
pair  of  the  dead  Captain's  shoes,  also  his  shirt 
and  pants,  I  had  Broken-Nosed  Pete  row  me  to 
the  landing  place  on  the  wharf. 

I  wanted  to  look  up  the  consignee  and  see 
where  he  wanted  the  cargo  of  lumber.  There 
were  a  few  cutters  anchored  in  the  harbor,  but 
no  ships.  As  we  neared  the  wharf,  I  noticed  a 
neat  and  clean  little  steam  cutter  lying  along 
the  south  side  of  the  wharf,  and  judged  from 
the  three-pound  gun  on  her  deck  that  she  was 
a  revenue  cutter.  On  the  wharf  stood  many 
natives,  male  and  female.  I  was  particularly 
attracted  to  the  native  men,  who  were  wonderful 

151 


152  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

types  of  physical  development,  standing  six  feet 
or  more,  with  broad  shoulders  and  deep  chests. 
The  muscles  ran  smoothly  in  their  arms  and 
legs,  and  their  tapering  thighs  and  agile  feet 
made  a  picture  seldom  seen  in  the  northern  lati 
tudes.  They  had  no  worries  and  troubles  in 
dealing  with  the  tailors  and  dressmakers.  Adam 
and  Eve  fashions  still  prevailed  here,  although 
some  of  the  more  prominent  wore  a  yard  or  two 
of  white  linen  instead  of  the  fig  leaves.  This, 
contrasted  with  the  shiny  dark  skin  and  the 
white-washed  hair,  which  had  a  vertical  pitch, 
rather  distinguished  them  in  appearance  from 
their  more  humble  brethren. 

Broken-Nosed  Pete  was  so  fascinated  by  "  the 
female  of  the  species,"  that  he  forgot  to  moor 
the  boat.  As  the  latter  was  drifting  away  from 
the  wharf  I  gave  him  instructions  to  be  more 
prudent, —  to  make  fast  the  boat,  and  remain 
there  until  my  return.  Evidently  Pete  was  not 
looking  for  this  rebuke,  for  he  answered  in  a 
voice  that  could  be  heard  the  width  of  the  harbor 
saying,  "Aye,  aye,  there  seems  to  be  a  hellish 
current,  sir." 

As  I  started  to  walk  up  the  wharf  I  was  met 


INTRODUCING  CAPTAIN  KANE        153 

by  a  young  man  wearing  a  Palm  Beach  suit. 
"  You  are  the  Captain  of  the  '  Wampa/  I  believe," 
said  he,  "  I  represent  Smith  &  Company  here, 
and  your  cargo  is  consigned  to  us."  After  show 
ing  me  where  the  lumber  was  to  go,  he  told  me 
that  I  would  have  to  raft  it  ashore.  This  was 
rather  discouraging  to  me,  as  the  distance  was 
about  one  mile  from  the  ship  and  I  had  never  had 
any  experience  with  work  of  this  kind,  but  on 
account  of  shallow  water  at  the  dock  I  had  no 
other  alternative  and  decided  to  raft  the  cargo 
ashore  as  he  directed. 

He  invited  me  to  his  office,  telling  me  that  he 
believed  there  was  mail  there  for  the  ship.  In 
passing  a  hotel  at  the  end  of  the  wharf  he  sug 
gested  a  highball,  which  was  served  in  due  course 
by  a  red-headed  Irish  barmaid.  I  was  then  intro 
duced  to  a  number  of  Hibernians,  noticeable 
among  whom  was  a  very  fat  and  blubbery  looking 
creature  with  an  unusually  large  nose.  His 
black  beard  was  streaked  with  gray,  his  mouth 
had  a  sort  of  an  angular  twist,  and  in  opening 
it  one  could  see  a  few  stray  tusks,  so  solitary 
that  it  seemed  they  must  be  quite  conscious  of 
the  old  surroundings.  The  shirt,  with  its  nico- 


154  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

tine  and  other  stains,  was  open  at  the  neck,  dis 
playing  a  black  and  long-haired  breast.  This  he 
seemed  to  be  very  proud  of. 

After  telling  me  that  bis  name  was  Captain 
Kane,  and  that  he  was  the  Captain  of  the  "  Pon- 
gon,"  the  revenue  cutter  which  I  had  noticed 
lying  alongside  the  wharf,  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
breast  and  began  to  twist  the  black  hair.  This 
was  probably  an  act  of  official  dignity  as  Captain 
of  the  "  Pongon,"  and  representative  of  the  Brit 
ish  Government  in  the  Fiji  Archipelago.  I  got 
the  mail,  which  consisted  of  three  letters,  one 
for  the  cook,  and  one  for  me  from  the  owners, 
instructing  me  to  proceed  home  in  ballast  to  San 
Francisco.  The  other  was  addressed  to  Nelson, 
the  Dane.  When  I  got  back  aboard  the  ship  it 
was  noon,  and  raining  as  it  knows  how  to  rain  in 
this  country.  It  was  not  dropping  down,  but  a 
continuous  stream  as  if  running  through  a 
sprinkler. 

The  afternoon  was  given  to  taking  off  deck- 
lashings  and  getting  a  line  ashore  in  order  to  be 
able  to  pull  the  raft  to  the  wharf.  This  opera 
tion  used  up  almost  all  the  rope  on  the  ship. 

About  seven  o'clock  the  crew  came  aft  to  say 


INTRODUCING  CAPTAIN  KANE        155 

that  they  were  going  ashore  and  wanted  some 
money  to  spend.  Oh,  no,  not  at  all  for  whiskey, 
just  a  few  necessary  things  such  as  socks,  tobacco 
and  handkerchiefs.  (Whoever  heard  of  a  sailor 
buying  a  handkerchief  while  the  ready  oakum 
is  to  be  had  for  the  asking ! )  I  assured  them  that 
tomorrow  I  would  draw  on  the  owners,  and  give 
them  one  pound  each  to  spend  on  these  luxuries. 
They  went  forward  growling  and  grumbling,  and 
not  at  all  pleased  with  this  proposition.  I 
believe  that  Broken-Nosed  Pete's  description  of 
what  he  had  seen  at  the  wharf  weighed  heavy  on 
their  minds. 

In  the  morning  we  started  the  raft  by  taking 
four  long  two-by-sixes  and  lashing  them  at  the 
ends,  thus  forming  a  square,  then  launching  it 
over  the  side,  and  making  it  fast  to  the  ship. 
We  started  to  stow  the  lumber  on  the  ship,  run 
ning  the  boards  fore  and  aft,  then  athwart  ships. 
After  having  stowed  a  few  tiers,  the  raft  took 
shape,  but  great  care  had  to  be  taken  in  starting 
it,  as  it  was  hard  to  keep  the  first  boards  from 
floating  away.  The  raft  could  not  draw  over 
six  feet,  otherwise  we  could  not  float  it  ashore, 
but  with  this  draft  we  could  raft  twenty  thousand 


156  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

feet  ashore  and  escape  the  shallow  places  in  the 
harbor. 

I  went  ashore  towards  noon  to  hire  ten  natives 
to  help  unload  cargo.  Much  to  my  surprise,  the 
native  Fijian  is  a  man  of  leisure  and  not  of  toil. 
Shell-fishing  is  good,  and  the  yams  and  bananas 
are  within  easy  reach,  so  this  gentleman  prefers 
to  bask  in  the  sunshine  rather  than  to  work  for 
a  paltry  shilling. 

I  was  about  to  go  to  the  office  of  Smith  &  Com 
pany  to  see  what  they  could  do  for  me  about 
getting  help,  when  I  espied  Captain  Kane  stroll 
ing  up  the  wharf.  From  the  way  his  legs  were 
spread  apart  one  could  see  that  his  cargo 
was  something  different  from  lumber.  As  he 
approached  me  I  noticed  the  cigar  was  so  short 
that  it  was  singeing  his  black  beard  and  mus 
tache.  He  greeted  me  warmly,  saying,  "  How's 
she  heading,  sonny?"  and  insisted  that  I  join 
him  in  a  glass,  as  he  usually  took  one  about  this 
time  of  day. 

On  the  way  to  the  hotel  I  told  him  how  hard 
it  was  going  to  be  for  me  to  get  help.  He  stopped 
suddenly,  and,  turning  around  to  look  at  the  har 
bor  as  if  to  make  sure  that  there  were  no  block- 


INTRODUCING  CAPTAIN  KANE        157 

ade  runners  in  the  offing,  he  fanned  himself  with 
his  cheese-cutter  cap,  then  turned  towards  me 
saying,  "  Why,  man  alive,  I  can  load  your  ship 
down  with  coolies.  Do  you  see  those,"  pointing 
to  a  couple  of  small  men,  "  they  are  our  workers 
here.  They  come  in  from  the  Solomon  group.  I 
will  get  you  as  many  as  you  wrant  for  two  shil 
lings  a  day  and  meals.  As  for  these  natives,  they 
are  damned  lazy  scoundrels,  that's  what  they  are, 
they  won't  work  at  all  if  they  can  help  it." 

Mrs.  Fagan  greeted  us  with  a  smile,  asking  us 
in  the  good  old  Irish  way  what  our  pleasure 
might  be.  Her  red  hair  was  much  in  need  of 
combing  and  lacked  the  delicate  wave  of  the  ton- 
sorial  artist.  We  were  joined  by  the  pilot,  who 
was  on  his  way  to  give  his  boat's  crew  a  little 
excursion  around  the  harbor.  "  One  must  keep 
them  in  practice,  you  know.  Goodness  knows 
when  a  coolie  ship  may  heave  in  sight,  and  I 
must  be  there  to  guide  her  in.  Oh,  yes,  I  must 
do  my  duty  rain  or  shine." 


CHAPTER  XX 
REMINISCENCES  OF  OLD  CLIPPER  DAYS 

One  could  see  from  the  yawn  and  grunt  that 
Captain  Kane  gave,  that  if  the  pilot  went  on  talk 
ing  he  would  disregard  all  rules  of  the  road  and 
make  it  a  head-on  collision.  How  could  he 
respect  this  thing,  that  called  itself  captain  and 
pilot,  when  all  he  commanded  was  an  open  boat 
with  a  few  black  oarsmen ;  "  It  is  practice  you 
want,"  said  Captain  Kane,  raising  his  glass  and 
draining  the  last  dregs  from  Mrs.  Fagan's  high 
ball,  setting  the  glass  down  on  the  bar  with  a 
bang  that  seemed  to  further  derange  Mrs.  Fagan's 
red  hair. 

She  turned  around  exclaiming,  "  May  the  Lord 
save  us  and  phat  was  that?  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Captain  Kane  to  the 
pilot,  wiping  his  month,  "  that  I  don't  think  you 
know  Hell  about  doing  your  duty.  Here's  a 
man  "  —  patting  me  on  the  shoulder  —  "  that 
squared  away  and  ran  the  reef  while  you  were 

158 


OLD  CLIPPER  DAYS  159 

asleep,  yes,  damn  you,  asleep.  You  talk  about 
duty ! "  The  little  wisp  of  hair  on  Captain 
Kane's  head  no  longer  lay  in  quiet  repose,  but 
started  to  ascend  as  if  controlled  by  the  angular 
motions  of  his  hands  and  feet.  The  illuminating 
light  in  his  bleary  eyes  continued,  and  he  said 
in  a  voice  that  sounded  like  the  rolling  surf, 
"  Fifty  years  ago,  running  between  Ceylon  and 
the  United  Kingdom,  in  the  old  tea  clippers 
where  our  topsails  and  top-gallant  sheets  were 
locked  with  a  padlock,  and  where  we  got  a  bonus 
from  the  owners  whenever  we  carried  away  a 
sail.  Those  were  the  days !  " 

He  brought  his  clubbed  fist  down  on  the  bar 
with  such  force  that  he  jarred  many  of  the  glasses 
that  were  arranged  around  the  beer  pump  han 
dles.  Mrs.  Fagan  whispered  to  me  that  the  Cap 
tain  was  not  himself  today  at  all,  at  all,  that  he 
seldom  gave  way  like  this.  "  You  talk  about 
duty  to  me,"  Captain  Kane  continued,  "  but  I've 
seen  the  time  wrhen  every  damned  man  of  us  were 
tied  to  the  rigging  during  a  typhoon.  Never  a 
reef  nor  a  furled  sail,  while  the  Captain  held  the 
padlock  keys.  Oh,  boys,  those  were  the  days, 
and  you  come  around  here  talking  to  me  about 


160  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

your  duty.  Go  on  with  you  now  before  I  forget 
that  I  am  Captain  of  His  Majesty's  ship  '  Pon- 
gon.' ' 

The  pilot  was  much  distressed  by  this  outburst 
of  anger  from  Captain  Kane.  As  he  adjusted 
his  monocle  with  trembling  fingers  before  reply 
ing,  a  side  door  opened  and  Mr.  Tim  Fagan,  pro 
prietor  of  the  Pier  Hotel,  greeted  us  with  a  grin, 
saying,  "  'Tis  a  foine  day  we  be  havin',  men,  and 
how  are  you  all  this  morning?  " 

The  contrast  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fagau  was 
interesting,  and  one  could  see  that  the  eugenic 
situation  had  not  yet  reached  south  of  twenty- 
three. 

His  costume  was  that  which  is  worn  by  the 
English  lodge  gate-keeper.  He  stood  about  five 
feet  four,  in  the  long  stockings  and  the  knee 
pants,  the  spiral  legs,  the  number  ten  boots. 
This  rig  was  coupled  with  the  fringe  of  a  beard 
extending  from  ear  to  ear,  partly  displaying  a 
small  chin  and  upper  lip.  Such  an  upper  lip  is 
seldom  seen  outside  South  Africa,  but  with  him 
it  had  assumed  such  vast  proportions  that  there 
was  little  to  see  of  the  face.  The  wart  or  button 
that  was  intended  for  a  nose  was  pushed  up  the 


OLD  CLIPPER  DAYS  161 

face  and  in  line  with  the  gray  eyes.  The  mouth 
was  in  contrast  to  the  upper  lip,  but  its  expan 
sion  was  lost  in  the  sandy  stubble  of  the  side 
whiskers. 

Mrs.  Fagan  looked  adoringly  at  her  beloved 
spouse  and  said,  "  Tim,  it's  yourself  that  will 
treat  the  gintlemen." 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Captain  Kane 
reached  a  small  shack  made  of  bamboo  poles  and 
palm  leaves.  On  entering  we  were  confronted 
with  a  sight  long  to  be  remembered,  for  there, 
sitting  around  in  a  circle  were  fourteen  natives 
of  the  Solomon  Islands  chewing  kara  root, 
which,  after  much  masticating,  they  spit  into  a 
large  earthen-ware  dish.  The  kara  root  when 
properly  masticated  is  then  collected,  put 
through  a  sort  of  churning  process  and  made 
into  a  drink  which  is  known  as  Fiji  grog.  It 
resembles  oatmeal  wrater,  which  is  a  familiar 
drink  among  our  northern  harvest  hands,  but 
lacks  its  obvious  peculiarities.  The  natives 
greeted  the  Captain  with  a  salaam-san  and  prof 
fered  him  a  cup  of  the  thick  and  slimy  substance. 
The  Captain  refused,  saying  that  it  was  near  his 
lunch  hour  and  he  preferred  not  to  indulge  on 


162  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

an  empty  stomach,  which  I  was  pleased  to  see, 
for  if  he  had  taken  aboard  some  of  this  myste 
rious  looking  cargo  and  mixed  it  in  his  water 
tight  compartment  there  would  have  been  a 
vacant  chair  at  lunch  on  board  His  Majesty's 
ship  "  Pongon." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

UNLOADING  CARGO  —  AGAIN  THE  MASTER  — 
NATIVE  POLICE 

L 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  hiring  ten  of  the  little 
men,  and  took  them  off  to  the  ship  to  work  cargo. 
In  the  afternoon  we  hauled  a  raft  of  lumber 
ashore.  I  was  greatly  encouraged  with  this 
process  of  unloading;  of  course  it  lacked  the 
noise  of  the  steam  winch  and  the  occasional  pro 
fanity  of  the  Frisco  longshoremen,  but  this  was 
the  South  Sea  Isles  where  work  was  a  pleasure. 

I  drew  thirty  pounds  ( a  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars),  remembering  that  the  crew  had  some  "  pur 
chases  "  to  make  that  evening.  After  supper 
they  came  aft,  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  and 
repeated  their  demands  of  the  evening  before. 

After  giving  each  member  of  the  crew  forward 
one  pound,  and  the  second  mate  and  cook  two 
pounds,  they  got  in  the  boat  and  pulled  ashore, 
leaving  me  and  Toby,  the  black  cat,  to  guard  the 

163 


164  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

ship.  I  remained  long  after  sunset  on  deck  lis 
tening  to  the  natives  singing  and  playing  their 
guitars.  The  sound,  mingled  with  the  noise  of 
the  surf  breaking  on  the  reefs  beyond  the  purring 
of  Toby,  created  a  lullaby  that  would  soothe  the 
wildest  intellect. 

Leaving  Toby  on  deck  to  play  with  the  cock 
roaches,  I  went  aft  to  the  cabin  to  make  the 
report  of  the  day.  While  thus  working  I  was 
interrupted  by  a  strange  noise  in  the  Captain's 
room.  I  thought  it  was  Toby  going  his  rounds, 
but  upon  investigation  I  found  that  he  was  on 
deck  and  sitting  by  the  galley  door.  I  was  busy 
with  an  example  in  proportion.  If  it  took  one 
day  to  unload  twenty  thousand  feet  of  lumber 
how  many  days  would  it  take  to  unload  five  hun 
dred  thousand?  I  seated  myself  at  the  table 
again,  but  was  brought  up  with  a  sudden  start  on 
hearing  three  loud  and  distinct  knocks  on  the 
dead  Captain's  door.  I  found  myself  saying, 
"  Yes,  Captain,  I  will  attend  to  it  at  once." 

In  my  excitement  of  the  past  few  days  I  had 
forgotten  to  mail  the  dead  Captain's  last  will  to 
Berkeley,  California.  I  jumped  up  and  opened 
the  door  leading  to  his  room.  Lighting  the  light 


UNLOADING  CARGO  165 

and  going  to  a  small  drawer  in  the  desk,  I  took 
out  the  will,  also  the  little  shoes,  and  the  pink 
ribbons,  and  yellow  curls,  and  started  ashore  to 
mail  them  to  the  above  address  in  the  U.  S.  A.  I 
did  not  stop  now  to  write  the  letter,  which  I  knew 
must  also  go,  and  which  would  be  so  very  hard 
for  me  to  write. 

I  made  the  small  boat  fast  at  the  landing,  and 
hurried  to  where  I  could  get  stamps,  for  I  was 
bound  that  these  packages  should  leave  on  the 
next  north-bound  steamer. 

As  I  neared  the  Pier  Hotel  I  was  surprised  to 
see  Riley  standing  outside  the  door  talking  in  a 
loud  and  profane  voice.  In  passing  him  I  could 
hear  him  say,  "  Ah  go-wan,  you  dirty  Conne- 
mara  crook,  shur'n  I  knew  your  father,  he  used  to 
eat  swill  out  of  the  swill  barrels." 

With  this  a  chair  came  bouncing  through  the 
door,  which  increased  my  speed  for  the  Post 
Office.  Evidently,  Mr.  Fagan  and  Kiley  had 
been  having  some  political  argument,  for  in  the 
distance  he  was  shouting,  "  Parnell  was  a  gintle- 
man  and  a  scholar !  " 

Kiley's  shouting  was  evidently  disturbing  the 
peace  of  the  harbor,  for  a  great  many  of  the 


166  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

natives,  men  and  women,  were  running  towards 
the  Pier  Hotel  where  he  was  holding  forth. 

As  I  walked  to  the  more  thickly  settled  part  of 
the  town  I  stopped  and  asked  a  white  man  where 
the  Post  Office  was.  On  being  told  it  was  down 
by  the  Club  Hotel,  the  anxiety  to  relieve  my  mind 
of  this  obligation  caused  me  to  put  on  more 
speed,  and  I  shoveled  along  in  the  Captain's 
heavy  and  much  too  large  boots.  Arriving  at 
the  Club  Hotel  I  was  informed  that  the  Post 
Office  was  closed.  The  genial  host,  a  thick 
heavy-set  Australian,  supplied  me  with  stamps, 
paper  and  envelopes,  and  I  wrrote  to  the  owners 
telling  them  of  the  Captain's  death,  and  sent  the 
package  in  their  care,  with  instructions  to  for 
ward  it  to  the  proper  address. 

I  felt  greatly  relieved  of  my  responsibility  to 
the  Captain  and  owners  when  the  host  assured 
me  that  he  would  take  care  of  the  postage  in  the 
morning.  Becoming  suddenly  conscious  of  the 
real  picturesqueness  of  these  islands  and  anxious 
to  see  the  natives  at  closer  range,  I  called  up  all 
the  old  beach  combers  in  the  hotel  to  have  a 
drink.  This  seemed  to  please  the  proprietor,  for 
he  shouted,  "  Come  on,  men,  breast  the  bar !  " 


UNLOADING  CARGO  167 

I  noticed  Broken-Nosed  Pete  in  the  corner  hav 
ing  a  very  confidential  chat  with  a  villainous- 
looking  man.  They  were  so  occupied  that  they 
failed  to  hear  the  cheery  command  of  the  pro 
prietor.  The  attractive  barmaid  was  very  much 
annoyed  at  my  ordering  ginger  ale,  turning 
around  and  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass  and 
adjusting  her  white  crocheted  cap  as  if  to  make 
sure  that  she  was  really  awake  and  not  dream 
ing.  "  Whoever  heard  of  a  sailor  drinking  gin 
ger  ale,"  she  might  have  said,  "  haven't  they  come 
here  from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  always 
thirsty  for  the  rum  that  makes  them  merry  and 
gay?  Besides,  you  can  never  loosen  up  a  man  on 
ginger  ale." 

His  spendings  in  the  rum  shops  in  this  case 
are  not  at  all  to  the  liking  of  the  pretty  bar 
maids,  who  flatter  themselves  that  they  get  the 
last  penny  from  the  sailor  just  off  the  sea.  I 
was  reminded  of  the  time  by  seeing  an  old-fash 
ioned  clock  hanging  to  the  right  of  the  bar,  when 
suddenly  a  trap  door  on  top  of  the  old  clock 
opened,  and  a  cuckoo  hopped  out  cooing  the  hour 
of  eleven  o'clock.  So  absorbed  had  I  been  in 
meeting  with  the  old  shell-backs,  who  were  lined 


168  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

along  the  bar  at  my  expense  drinking  Old  Tom 
and  soda  that  I  became  oblivious  both  of  the 
flight  of  time  and  the  slow  trickling  away  of  my 
money.  I  made  a  hasty  getaway  for  the  open. 

Outside  the  night  was  warm  and  everything 
peaceful  and  tranquil.  The  rolling  hills  to  the 
eastward  were  illuminated  by  the  silvery  rays 
of  a  rising  moon.  The  occasional  hum  of  the 
disgusted  mosquito  who  had  missed  his  mark 
was  all  that  seemed  to  disturb  the  peace  of  this 
quaint  Fijian  town.  The  moon  took  flight, 
squeezing  and  pushing  her  way  through  the  far- 
off  stately  palms.  As  she  began  to  throw  ghostly 
shadows  from  the  native  house  tops,  I  felt  the 
fascination  of  these  islands  as  never  before.  The 
soft  trade  winds,  the  silvery  rippling  waters,  the 
lullaby  from  the  reef  beyond,  the  cooing  and 
gurgling  of  the  surf  as  it  played  upon  the  coral 
beech  below,  were  enchanting. 

The  distant  call  of  the  native  boatman  shoving 
off  with  his  cargo  of  vegetables  and  fruits  for 
early  market,  caused  silvery  threads  of  sound  in 
the  night,  and  a  parrakeet  chattered  as  he  gave 
way  to  a  more  worthy  rival.  The  tune  of  the  sea- 


UNLOADING  CARGO  169 

gull  reached  me  as  he  dove  from  on  high  and 
missed  his  wiggling  fish. 

While  listening  to  these  strange  and  interest 
ing  sounds,  I  was  rudely  interrupted  by  boister 
ous  laughter  coming  from  the  direction  of  the 
Pier  Hotel.  I  thought  of  Riley,  and  hastened 
there,  thinking  that  his  political  argument  must 
have  taken  a  serious  trend. 

Much  to  my  surprise  Riley  was  not  to  be  seen, 
but  there  stood  the  Socialist  cook,  perched  high 
on  a  dry  goods  box  with  a  large  mug  of  ale  in 
one  hand  and  a  black  cigar  in  the  other.  There 
were  a  few  native  men  and  women  standing 
around,  evidently  much  amused  by  the  cook's  ges 
tures.  Back  of  him,  beside  a  sickly  and  yellow 
oil  lamp,  stood  two  natives  dressed  in  loose 
tunics,  whose  sleeves  were  cut  off  at  the  elbow. 
They  also  wore  short  skirts  coming  down  to  the 
knee,  and  below  that  was  nature's  own.  What 
attracted  me  most  wras  the  coloring  of  this 
strange  uniform. 

As  I  edged  closer  I  noticed  that  this  kilty-look- 
costume  was  a  very  dark  blue,  but  the  trimmings 
were  getting  on  my  nerves.  The  wearers  were 


170  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

standing  with  one  side  to  the  oil  lamp,  and  from 
this  angle  I  could  see  that  the  dresses  were 
trimmed  with  red  borders  about  three  inches 
wide  above  the  neck.  The  cut-off  sleeves  also 
had  their  share  of  this  Satanic  display.  The 
short  petticoat  was  more  conspicuous.  This, 
contrasted  with  large  feet  and  yellow  legs,  show 
ing  the  blood-red  border  on  the  indigo  skirt,  was 
a  coloring  seldom  seen  in  any  man's  country. 

As  they  whispered  to  each  other  I  noticed  that 
they  had  long  clubs  belted  onto  their  hands. 
The  cook,  between  a  puff  on  the  black  cigar  and 
a  drink  of  Bass'  Famous  was  decrying  the  Brit 
ish  government  for  making  slaves  of  them. 
After  much  persuasion  I  took  the  cook  in  tow 
for  the  ship.  I  did  not  like  the  look  of  His 
Majesty's  Fijian  policeman,  especially  since  I 
was  so  much  dependent  on  early  breakfasts  for 
both  the  crew  and  natives. 

At  the  row-boat  the  cook  hesitated,  saying: 
"  Just  one  more  before  we  part."  When  I 
answered  him  in  the  negative  he  straightened  up 
and  squared  his  shoulders,  saying :  "  To  Hell  with 
monarchies;  I  shall  give  them  the  ballot  to  do 
with  as  they  may."  The  ginger  ale  in  this 


UNLOADING  CARGO  171 

instance  was  more  powerful  than  the  famous 
Bass'  ale  and  I  shouldered  the  cook  easily  up  the 
gangway.  I  noticed  as  I  did  so  that  the  cat-boat 
was  not  alongside.  Evidently  the  crew  was  still 
enjoying  Fiji  hospitality.  This  was  proven  on 
reaching  the  deck,  for  the  only  sound  that  greeted 
us  was  Toby  purring  and  wagging  his  black  tail, 
happy  in  the  knowledge  that  even  a  drunken  cook 
was  preferable  to  the  lonely  swinging  anchor 
light  on  the  fore-stay. 

I  left  the  cook,  after  assuring  him  that  I  would 
lend  my  assistance  in  starting  a  socialist  colony 
on  one  of  these  islands.  From  the  wray  he 
tumbled  into  the  bunk  there  would  be  little  time 
consumed  in  making  his  toilet  in  the  morning. 
Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  if  one  denies  the 
claims  of  bedbugs,  cockroaches  and  mosquitoes. 
They  had  waited  patiently  for  the  past  six  hours 
for  just  this  event.  What  a  wonderful  oppor 
tunity  they  would  find  in  this  fat  and  blubbery 
creature  lying  there  in  an  ecstasy  of  bliss,  with 
not  a  groan  to  disturb  their  peaceful  recreation. 
Only  a  matter  of  a  slight  incision  on  a  choice 
part,  then  insert  the  valve  and  turn  on  the  cen 
trifugal  pump  and  all  would  be  done  to  their 


172  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

great  satisfaction.  But  this  slumbering  animal 
was  now  done  up  in  impenetrable  strata  of 
clothes,  which  ruined  their  sport. 

Kemoving  the  hat  and  loosing  the  black  and 
red  tie  from  around  his  neck,  I  blew  out  the  light, 
and  left  him  to  determine  a  battle  for  the  sur 
vival  of  the  fittest. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SHORE  LEAVE  —  THE  WEB-TOED  SAILOR  —  THE 
MISSIONARY  SHIP 

I  was  wondering  whether  to  go  ashore  to  look 
for  the  crew,  when  I  heard  the  second  mate's 
voice  saying :  "  Easy  on  your  port  oars.  Give 
away  hard  on  your  starboard."  As  they  came 
alongside  the  gangway  I  could  see  Eiley  and  the 
Kussian-Finn  asleep  in  the  bow  of  the  cat-boat. 
Dago  Joe  was  missing,  and  the  others  had  had 
about  all  the  rum  they  could  stand.  I  gave  the 
second  mate  orders  to  leave  Kiley  and  the  Rus 
sian-Finn  in  the  boat,  as  it  was  dangerous  to 
try  to  get  them  on  board  while  they  were  so 
drunk.  Swanson  spoke  up,  saying :  "  To  Hell 
with  you,  we  do  what  we  damned  please." 

I  was  rather  upset  by  this  remark  coming  from 
the  big  Swede.  I  should  have  thought  that  he 
would  have  had  enough  of  fighting  on  the  trip 
south.  Evidently  the  booze  was  working  on  him 
and  he  was  intending  revenge.  I  stepped  over 

173 


174  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

fo  the  pin-rail  and  pulled  out  a  wooden  belaying- 
pin.  Booze  or  no  booze,  I  was  going  to  make 
this  brute  respect  me  if  I  had  to  resort  to  old- 
time  methods.  Kunning  down  the  gangway,  I 
ordered  all  that  could  walk  up  to  get  there 
damned  quick  and  pointed  to  Swanson,  saying: 
"  You  will  be  the  first  to  leave  the  boat."  As  the 
ship  swung  with  the  outgoing  current,  the  moon 
revealed  the  expression  of  hatred  on  Swanson's 
face.  The  high  cheek  bones,  the  knitted  viking- 
brows,  the  large  cruel  mouth,  showing  the  irreg 
ular  and  vicious-looking  tusks,  the  eyes  no  longer 
blue,  whose  pupils  were  so  enlarged  that  the 
color  had  disappeared, —  all  this  gave  him  just 
the  look  of  a  wild  animal  at  bay. 

Swanson  jumped  from  the  stern-sheets  to  the 
center  of  the  boat,  shouting :  "  Shove  her  off  and 
we  will  go  ashore  again,  and  you  may  go  to  Hell." 
As  he  reached  for  the  boat  hook  to  shove  her  off 
or  to  use  it  on  me  if  it  should  come  handy,  I  did 
not  wait  for  him  to  decide.  Jumping  into  the 
boat,  I  knocked  him  down  and  ordered  the  others 
aboard. 

Whether  my  sudden  irruption  amongst  them 
with  the  belaying-pin  was  a  counter-irritant  for 


SHORE  LEAVE  175 

the  booze  they  had  within  them  or  not  I  don't 
know.  But  the  boat  wras  cleared  in  two  min 
utes,  leaving  Swanson,  Kiley  and  the  Finn  lying 
in  the  bottom.  The  second  mate,  although  try 
ing  with  a  thick  tongue  to  proclaim  his  innocence 
of  having  had  even  a  glass  of  ale,  was  making 
heavy  weather  of  it  while  going  up  the  gangway. 
I  reached  for  the  water  dipper  and  poured  the 
salt,  but  warm,  sea  water  over  Swanson.  After 
a  few  applications  of  this  stimulating  treatment 
he  arose  to  his  feet  saying,  "  I  tank  I  go  on  board 
now."  I  followed  him  up  the  gangway  and  for 
ward  to  his  bunk  to  make  sure  there  would  be 
no  tricking  from  this  brute.  I  remembered  the 
cowardly  kick  on  my  forehead  and  resolved  if 
there  was  any  kicking  to  be  done  I  would  do  it. 

Walking  aft,  I  heard  splashing  as  if  some  one 
was  overboard.  On  reaching  the  gangway  I  dis 
covered  that  the  Finn  was  missing  from  the  boat. 
Ahead  of  the  cat-boat  lay  a  raft  of  lumber,  and 
on  the  outside  of  it  I  could  plainly  see  bubbles 
coming  up,  and  wondered  if  this  could  not  be  the 
action  of  a  vegetable  gas. 

But  to  my  horror  the  Kussian's  head  popped 
out  of  the  water,  and  with  it  came  a  blood-curd- 


176  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

ling  scream  as  he  writhed  about  in  his  death 
struggles.  Instead  of  making  for  the  raft,  he 
was  fanning  and  kicking  the  water  away  from 
it. 

I  dropped  the  belaying-pin,  and,  slashing  the 
shoe  strings  of  the  Captain's  boots,  jumped  out 
of  them  and  overboard  after  the  drowning  Finn. 
As  I  swam  near  him  his  hands  went  up  and  with 
a  shriek  he  sank  below.  After  several  attempts 
at  diving,  I  finally  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and 
arose  to  the  surface.  Swimming  over  to  the 
gangway,  I  caught  hold  of  the  boat  painter,  and, 
throwing  his  arms  over  the  rope,  I  managed  to 
crawl  onto  the  lower  platform,  then  pulling  and 
struggling  with  this  dead  burden,  I  gradually 
made  my  way  to  the  deck. 

I  dumped  him  down  on  the  break  of  the  poop 
and  ran  for  the  cook's  pork  barrel.  It  wasn't 
that  I  was  so  terribly  interested  in  this  lifeless 
thing,  but  I  was  interested  in  knowing  that 
should  I  lose  him  I  would  be  forced  to  sail  short- 
handed,  as  there  were  no  sailors  here  who  cared 
to  stray  far  away  from  the  cocoanuts  and  yams. 

When  it  came  to  rolling  I  gave  him  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt.  I  rolled  him  under  the  barrel  and 


SHORE  LEAVE  177 

over  it,  and  stimulated  him  with  artificial  respi 
ration.  After  about  one  hour  he  began  to  show 
signs  of  life.  I  then  carried  him  forward  to 
his  bunk,  taking  off  his  shoes  and  stockings. 

My  attention  was  caught  by  his  feet,  for  he 
had  one  large  toe  on  each  foot,  and  in  place  of 
the  smaller  toes  all  that  remained  was  a  thin 
tissue  or  web,  extending  from  the  large  toe  to 
where  the  smaller  one  should  be.  Then  it 
dawned  upon  me  that  the  reason  this  man  never 
went  barefooted  was  his  bashfulness  of  these 
duck-like  feet.  After  covering  him  over  in  the 
bunk,  I  hurried  to  where  Riley  was  lying  in  the 
boat,  finding  him  cuddled  up  with  his  head 
between  his  legs. 

I  decided  to  leave  him  there,  but  secured  him 
fast  with  a  rope,  in  such  a  way  that  when  he 
became  sober  it  would  be  necessary  for  some  one 
to  come  to  his  rescue;  I  was  not  going  to  take 
any  chances  on  having  to  be  the  pearl  diver  to 
fish  Kiley  from  the  depth  of  Suva  Harbor. 

Away  to  the  eastward  the  faint  rays  of  a  new 
day  were  shown  in  an  amber  sky  streaked  with 
brilliant  pink.  Taking  the  cook's  alarm  clock, 
I  went  below  to  secure  some  sleep  before  five 


178  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

o'clock.  While  fixing  the  mosquito  net  over  the 
port  hole  in  my  room  I  was  startled  by  hearing  a 
cry  which  resolved  itself  into,  "  Murder,  murder, 
begorra  it's  tied  they  have  me.  Hivenly  Father, 
to  think  I  should  be  ate  up  by  those  damned 
cannibals  and  not  a  soul  in  sight  to  see  the  last 
of  Michael  Dennis  Kiley." 

I  would  gladly  have  left  Riley  tugging  and 
pulling  at  the  diamond  hitch  that  bound  him, 
but  I  was  afraid  that  his  cries  of  murder  would 
attract  the  Fiji  policemen  ashore.  It  required 
tact  and  skill  and  diplomacy  to  untie  Eiley.  He 
was  snapping  and  kicking,  and  dangerous  to  get 
near.  He  was  calling  on  all  the  angels  in 
Heaven  to  witness  the  terrible  crime  he  was 
about  to  be  subjected  to.  ,1  assured  him  that 
his  old  tough  and  tarry  hide  was  not  even  fit  for 
a  shark  to  eat,  let  alone  a  decent  Fiji  cannibal. 

He  seemed  to  scent  a  kindly  influence,  but  was 
rather  inclined  to  resent  the  idea  of  having  a 
tarry  hide.  After  his  hands  and  feet  were  free 
he  wanted  to  fight  it  out  there,  and  then  saying 
that  it  did  not  matter  a  tinker's  damn  who  called 
him  this  name,  but  there  was  no  man  that  could 


SHORE  LEAVE  179 

get  away  with  an  insulting  remark  like  calling 
him  a  tarry-hide  or  an  old  shell-back. 

"  Be  Hivins,  the  cannibals  are  bad  enough," 
he  said,  "but  to  call  a  dacent  man  a  name  like 
this  is  too  much  for  the  pride  of  Ireland  to 
stand." 

As  he  struggled  to  his  feet  I  stepped  over  to 
the  blind  side  of  him  and  tightened  the  clove 
hitch  around  his  neck.  I  had  no  desire  to  let  this 
drunk-crazed  Irishman  loose  on  the  boat.  After 
much  coaxing  and  reassuring  he  finally  recog 
nized  me  and  offered  an  apology.  I  took  the 
hitch  off  his  neck,  and  let  him  up  to  the  deck, 
where  he  begged  for  one  more  hour's  sleep.  I 
called  the  cook  to  get  breakfast,  as  it  was  nearly 
five  o'clock,  and  had  a  look  at  the  Finn,  who 
seemed  none  the  worse  for  his  plunge  in  the  har 
bor.  The  freaky  and  webby  toes  were  sticking 
out  over  the  bunk  and  I  wondered  if  it  were  pos 
sible  to  drown  a  man  with  feet  like  these,  since 
they  had  all  the  characteristics  of  a  duck's  foot. 

There  were  yet  two  hours  left  before  it  was 
time  to  start  work  for  the  day,  so  I  hastened  to 
my  room  and  was  soon  asleep.  After  breakfast 


180  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

it  was  a  sickly-looking  crew  that  came  on  deck, 
some  of  them  very  much  ashamed,  others  com 
plaining  about  not  having  ice  on  board,  as  ttie 
fresh  water  was  too  warm  and  did  not  have  the 
soothing  effect  it  otherwise  would  have. 

The  ten  Solomon  Islanders  ate  their  beans  and 
hardtack  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  much  to 
the  disgust  of  the  sailors,  who  seemed  to  feel  the 
nauseating  effect  of  this  act.  The  work  of  mov 
ing  the  lumber  was  going  slowly.  It  seemed  that 
the  sailors  could  not  get  enough  oatmeal  water. 
Nothing  pleased  them,  everything  was  wrong. 
The  lumber  was  too  long.  It  was  too  heavy.  It 
was  not  sawed  right  at  the  mill.  Why  did  they 
have  to  work,  and  so  on  and  so  on? 

I  realized  that  if  this  kept  up  it  would  be  many 
weeks  before  we  would  be  ready  to  sail  for  home. 
With  this  thought  in  mind,  I  jumped  into  the 
small  boat  and  pulled  ashore  to  get  three  quarts 
of  Black  and  White  Scotch  whiskey.  I  felt  that 
after  they  had  had  a  drink  of  this  famous  brand 
the  lumber  would  move  with  a  will.  After  giving 
each  one  a  drink  of  this  murky  liquor  the  lumber 
seemed  to  move  as  if  by  magic.  No  longer  was 
it  too  large  and  heavy.  Each  one  was  trying  to 


SHORE  LEAVE  181 

outdo  the  other.  The  Solomon  Islanders  were 
in  great  danger  from  the  flying  two-by-fours,  and 
even  the  cook  was  wielding  the  axe  with  greater 
skill  as  he  drove  it  into  the  fibrous  yams.  This 
was  a  new  departure  in  the  handling  of  sailors, 
but  so  far  it  was  working  well.  If  it  was  neces 
sary  for  Scotch  whiskey  to  enter  into  the  dis 
charging  of  this  cargo,  I  was  going  to  see  that 
each  man  had  enough  to  stimulate,  him  to  even 
greater  results. 

While  ashore  in  the  afternoon  ordering  fresh 
meat  and  vegetables,  I  met  Captain  Kane,  who 
insisted  that  I  pay  a  visit  to  His  Majesty's  ship 
"  Pongon."  In  walking  down  the  wharf,  the 
Captain  noticed  a  ship  in  the  offing.  He  seemed 
interested  as  he  hurried  along  to  the  cutter. 

"  You  know,"  said  he,  "  my  eyes  are  not  as 
good  as  they  should  be,  and  I'll  be  damned  if  I 
know  whether  she  is  a  coolie  or  a  missionary 
ship." 

Contract  labor  is  used  here  in  working  the  rice 
fields  and  sugar  plantations.  The  coolies  sign  a 
five-year  contract  for  sixpence  (twelve  cents)  per 
day,  and  all  the  rice  they  can  eat.  They  live  by 
themselves  and  don't  associate  with  the  natives, 


182  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

as  they  consider  them  unclean  because  they  eat 
pig.  They  are  very  devout  in  their  worship  of 
Allah  and  adhere  strictly  to  fish  and  vegetables 
as  a  food.  They  are  the  type  seen  in  Bombay 
and  Calcutta.  Many  of  them,  after  being  here 
for  a  few  years,  form  a  company  and  buy  a  small 
sloop  of  five  to  ten  tons  to  haul  cobra  from  the 
different  islands  to  Suva,  the  capital  of  the  Fijis. 
The  latter  town  is  a  distributing  center  for  the 
Archipelago,  and  here  is  where  ships  of  many 
nations  come  and  load  this  dried  cocoanut  for 
the  foreign  markets  of  the  world.  It  is  one  of 
the  chief  industries  of  these  islands. 

On  boarding  the  revenue  cutter,  I  noticed  the 
native  crew  standing  around  the  gangway. 
They  all  came  to  a  salute,  as  their  proud  Captain 
swung  over  the  rail.  Their  uniform  resembled 
that  of  the  policemen,  but  instead  of  a  red  border 
in  a  blue  field,  it  was  white.  This  white  border 
with  the  white-washed  hair  gave  them  a  clean 
and  wholesome  look,  very  different  from  the 
policemen. 

Captain  Kane  led  the  way  to  the  bridge,  and, 
picking  up  a  pair  of  binoculars,  he  made  out  the 
strange  craft  to  be  a  missionary  ship.  "  You  will 


SHORE  LEAVE  183 

notice,"  said  he  as  he  handed  the  glasses  to  me, 
"that  she  has  painted  ports, —  damn  them 
painted  ports,  I  know  what  it  means,  not  a 
blasted  drink  as  long  as  she  is  here.  And  that's 
not  all,  when  them  missionaries  come  ashore, 
especially  the  older  women,  all  a  person  sees 
around  here  is  Hell's  burning  fires." 

The  coming  of  the  missionary  ship  held  no 
charm  for  Captain  Kane.  His  proud  and  digni 
fied  bearing  gave  way  to  that  of  a  child,  or  one 
who  has  lost  a  near  and  dear  friend.  "  It  is  too 
damned  bad,"  he  shouted,  "  that  she  should  come 
here  at  this  time;  I  and  a  few  old  friends  were 
about  to  have  a  little  party."  Here  he  pulled  his 
cheese-cutter  cap  down  with  a  jerk,  so  that  the 
bleary  eyes  were  no  longer  visible. 

"  And  now  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  be  converted 
again.  Yes,  Hell  and  damnation,  I  have  been 
converted  to  every  religion  that  was  ever  heard 
of.  Oh,  yes,  they  commercialize  it  down  here, 
and  we  all  chip  in  to  keep  the  brass  work  shining 
on  the  missionary  ships." 

Here  Captain  Kane  made  a  hasty  exit  from 
the  good  ship  "  Pongon  "  and  laid  out  a  course 
for  the  Pier  Hotel,  saying :  "  Little  does  the 


184  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

world  know  the  troubles  that  some  people  have 
who  are  trying  to  do  their  duty  to  their  God  and 
their  King." 

At  half-past  four  in  the  afternoon  the  mission 
ary  ship  dropped  anchor  about  a  cable's  length 
off  our  starboard  bow.  Her  crew  were  dressed 
in  man-o'-war  uniforms.  They  lowered  a  boat, 
and  as  they  pulled  ashore  I  could  see  five  portly- 
looking  dames  sitting  in  the  stern.  They  were 
discussing  our  ship,  and,  from  the  scowling 
glances  they  gave  us,  I  felt  that  we  were  safe  in 
standing  by  to  repel  boarders.  They  cast  loving 
glances  at  His  Majesty's  ship  "  Pongon,"  perhaps 
consulting  as  to  what  form  of  baptism  would  be 
most  impressive  for  Captain  Kane. 

The  crew  had  no  desire  to  go  ashore  this  even 
ing.  The  last  strenuous  night  and  a  hard  day's 
work,  had  left  them  in  a  rather  sullen  mood. 
Even  Old  Charlie  and  Kiley  were  not  on  speaking 
terms.  Swanson's  jaw  showed  the  mark  of  a 
belaying-pin,  and  he  seemed  quite  conscious  of  it 
as  he  chewed  his  evening  meal.  The  web-toed 
Russian-Finn  looked  as  if  the  hum  of  the  mos 
quito  would  be  a  welcome  lullaby  to  the  land  of 
dreams. 


SHORE  LEAVE  185 

The  cook,  though  silent  and  morose,  would  lift 
his  head  occasionally  from  the  dishes  to  listen 
to  the  natives  singing  their  evening  hymn,  "  Shall 
We  Gather  at  the  River  Where  Bright  Angels' 
Feet  Do  Tread."  Anything  with  angels  in  it  was 
displeasing  to  our  cook.  He  even  seemed  to  take 
a  sudden  dislike  to  Toby  as  he  kicked  him  out  of 
the  galley  door,  exclaiming,  "Get  out  of  here, 
damn  you ;  I  suppose  they  will  be  putting  wings 
on  you  before  long." 

The  Solomon  Islands  workmen,  although  tired 
from  the  day's  work,  were  laughing  and  chatting 
in  their  native  tongue  as  they  circled  around  a 
large  dishpan  of  Mulligan  stew. 

Knives  and  forks  were  not  much  in  evidence, 
the  natives  preferring  to  use  their  hands  to 
eat  with.  Although  trained  for  centuries  to 
eat  in  this  manner,  I  must  say  that  the  cook's 
Mulligan  stew  kept  them  guessing.  I  decided 
that  tomorrow,  if  perchance  the  cook  should 
arise  under  the  refining  influence  of  a  good 
night's  rest,  I  would  ask  him  to  thicken  the 
Mulligan  stew  in  the  interest  of  the  Solomon 
Islanders. 

The  discharging  of  cargo  was  progressing  sat- 


186  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

isfactorily,  since  we  now  had  the  deck  load  off, 
and  were  commencing  on  the  hold.  In  a  few 
days  I  had  hopes  of  clearing  from  Suva  and  start 
ing  on  our  long  voyage  home. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

FIJI  ROYALTY  —  LOCAL  COLOR  —  VISITORS  TO 
THE  SHIP 

Today  I  met  the  royal  family  of  the  Fiji 
Islands.  The  King,  although  old,  was  a  very 
impressive  figure,  with  his  long  white  kinky  hair 
and  massive  bushy  eyebrows.  His  color  was 
that  of  a  mulatto,  a  higher  type  than  that  of  the 
native  Fijians.  He  wore  a  loose  white  tunic  cut 
off  at  the  elbows,  and  girdled  around  him  was 
what  looked  like  a  homespun  sheet.  This  gar 
ment  was  twisted  and  tucked  tight  around  the 
hips,  the  lower  folds  falling  loosely  above  the 
knee;  the  legs  were  muscular  and  strong,  and 
the  calves  bulged  out  as  if  inflated  with  air.  The 
feet  were  ugly,  long  and  broad,  and  the  toes 
resembled  those  of  a  starfish.  No  matter  what 
the  angle  from  which  one  viewed  them,  there 
would  always  be  a  toe  pointing  towards  one. 

The  two  princesses  were  gaily  attired  in  blue 

187 


188  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

checked  Mother  Hubbards.  This  long  and  flow 
ing  garment  made  them  look  like  our  North 
American  squaws.  In  features  they  resembled 
the  Samoan  type  of  women. 

The  Prince,  of  stately  bearing,  wore  a  costume 
similar  to  that  of  his  royal  father,  but  his  most 
distinguishing  characteristic  was  the  number 
twelve  boots  he  wore.  He  seemed  particularly 
interested  in  those  massive  hides,  as  he  told  me 
how  he  came  to  be  their  proud  possessor.  There 
was  no  last  large  enough  on  the  island,  and  again 
there  was  a  shortage  of  leather,  so  it  came  to  pass 
that  some  local  astronomer  measured  the  altitude 
of  his  Highness'  feet,  and  this  measure,  sealed  in 
a  conch  shell,  was  cast  adrift  and  floated  away  to 
an  Australian  port,  where  it  finally  drifted  into 
the  hands  of  one  of  Dickens'  migrating  cobblers, 
who  filled  the  order  and  waxed  them  together. 

While  discussing  with  the  King  the  starry  ban 
ner  as  it  floated  from  the  mast  head  of  the  "  Wam- 
pa,"  my  attention  was  attracted  to  the  silent  and 
lonesome  figure  of  a  man,  descending  the  hill 
beyond  the  town.  As  this  melancholy  figure 
wended  its  way  among  the  palms,  I  could  make 
out  the  pea  jacket  and  cheese-cutter  cap  of  Cap- 


FIJI  ROYALTY  189 

tain  Kane.  As  he  approached  he  wore  a  troubled 
and  anxious  look  as  if  in  fear,  but  when  he  recog 
nized  the  royal  family,  his  expression  gave  way 
to  a  more  pleasing  one.  He  spat  out  a  large  chew 
of  tobacco,  and  slapping  the  King  on  the  shoul 
der,  "  How  in  Hell  did  you  know  the  missionary 
ship  was  in?  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  King,  "  we  see  flag  on  hill." 
Captain  Kane  explained  to  me  that  when  a 
missionary  ship  puts  in  to  Suva  they  raise  a  flag 
on  one  of  the  largest  hills  back  of  the  town.  That 
signals  to  the  natives  for  miles  around  that  there 
are  big  doings  in  Suva.  Captain  Kane  and  the 
royal  family  evidently  did  not  have  much  in  com 
mon,  for  he  grabbed  me  by  the  arm  and  led  the 
way  to  the  Pier  Hotel,  leaving  the  royal  family 
gazing  and  wondering  if  they  could  not  have 
made  a  better  bargain  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
than  with  the  Union  Jack  of  old  England. 

At  the  Pier  Hotel,  Mrs.  Fagan  greeted  us  with 
a  smile.  As  she  passed  the  Old  Tom  to  Captain 
Kane  she  remarked,  "  Sure'n  me  eyes  haven't 
rested  upon  you  for  days,  Captain  Kane.  'Tis 
sick  I  thought  you  were."  Here  she  gave  me  a 
roguish  wink. 


190  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Before  replying,  Captain  Kane  filled  his  bum 
per,  leaving  very  little  room  for  the  soda,  and 
took  a  step  toward  the  door  to  see  if  the  coast 
were  clear.  Satisfied  that  everything  was  in  his 
favor,  he  reached  for  the  glass  of  Old  Tom,  and 
with  one  gulp  and  a  gurgling  sound  as  if  running 
over  pebbles,  the  Old  Tom  disappeared  to  its  last 
resting  place.  He  pulled  out  a  much  worn  ban 
dana  handkerchief,  and  wiping  his  mouth  and 
beard  he  said  to  Mrs.  Fagan,  tf  No,  I  have  not 
been  sick,  I  have  been  a  very  busy  man  of  late. 
But  if  this  incessant  singing  and  praying  keeps 
up  I  am  pretty  damned  sure  I  will  get  sick." 
Mrs.  Fagan  interrupted,  saying :  "  Captain,  how 
long  are  the  missionaries  going  to  remain? " 
"  They  will  stay  here  until  they  have  every  one 
of  us  converted  again,"  moaned  the  Captain. 

Mrs.  Fagan  adjusted  a  large  tortoise-shell 
comb  in  her  hair,  and  straightening  out  her 
hand-embroidered  flounces  in  her  white  dress, 
remarked,  "  Shur'n  it's  poor  business  we  do  be 
having  when  the  missionary  ship  comes  in." 

"  Mrs.  Fagan,"  said  I,  "  give  us  another  drink. 
And  won't  you  join  us?  " 

"  Ah,  and  it's  seldom  I  ever  touch  it,  but  I  will 


FIJI  ROYALTY  191 

take  a  little  drop  of  Burke's  Irish  just  to  be 
sociable  with  you." 

After  Captain  Kane  had  three  bumpers  of  Old 
Tom  the  world  had  a  different  aspect  for  him; 
even  the  old  gray-haired  missionaries  weren't  so 
bad  after  all.  They  had  to  make  a  living  like  the 
rest  of  us.  But  at  times  they  were  objectionable, 
especially  when  the  gin  was  awash  in  the  bilges. 

On  the  way  down  to  the  wharf  Captain  Kane 
promised  to  take  me  for  a  drive  in  the  country, 
as  he  felt  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  be  away  at 
least  one  day  from  the  missionaries.  While  pull 
ing  off  to  the  "  Wampa,"  I  was  amused,  as  a 
canoe  glided  past  me,  to  see  a  native  make  use  of 
his  breech-cloth  for  a  sail.  He  unwound  about 
two  yards  of  cloth  from  around  his  waist  and 
fastened  it  to  two  bamboo  poles  that  were  about 
three  feet  apart.  After  tying  this  calico  wrap 
ping  at  the  top  and  bottom  of  the  poles  he  had  a 
square  sail.  The  square  sail  with  a  fair  wind 
made  it  easy  for  the  native;  he  leaned  back  on 
his  steering  oar,  evidently  well  pleased  with  such 
favorable  conditions. 

When  I  came  alongside,  I  noticed  that  the  crew 
looked  me  over  very  critically,  as  if  wondering 


192  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

why  I  stayed  away  so  long.  As  it  was  now  one 
hour  past  grog  time  they  wore  anxious  looks. 
A  growl  here  and  a  grunt  there  were  all  that 
greeted  me.  But  after  each  getting  a  jolt  of 
Scotch,  their  expressions  changed  to  a  smacking 
of  lips,  and  a  heave-aho  on  the  six-by-sixes. 

After  supper  the  missionary  boat  came  along 
side,  and  two  elderly  women  came  aboard  and 
asked  if  there  were  any  Christians  among  the 
crew.  I  informed  these  sanctified-looking  ladies 
that  I  had  my  "  doots,"  but  would  be  pleased  to 
escort  them  to  the  crew's  quarters  where  they 
could  make  their  own  diagnosis.  I  left  them  to 
go  down  the  scuttle  hatch  leading  to  the  fore 
castle  and  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  the  cabin,  fear 
ing  that  I  might  have  to  share  some  of  Captain 
Kane's  misery. 

While  entering  in  the  log  book  the  events  and 
progress  of  the  day,  I  realized  from  the  sounds 
coming  from  the  fore  part  of  the  ship,  that  the 
old  ladies  were  making  some  headway  with  the 
crew.  As  the  sound  took  volume,  I  could  hear 
them  singing,  "  Pull  for  the  shore,  sailors,  pull 
for  the  shore,  heed  not  the  tempest's  roar  but 
bend  to  the  oar." 


FIJI  ROYALTY  193 

The  cook,  putting  away  his  clean  dishes,  said, 
"What  in  Hell  has  got  into  those  fellows  this 
evening?  " 

I  told  him  that  they  were  having  a  very  socia 
ble  visit  from  the  ladies  who  ran  the  missionary 
ship,  and  that  no  doubt  they  would  be  pleased 
to  pay  him  a  friendly  visit.  The  cook  threw  the 
dishes  to  the  pantry  shelf,  and  slamming  the 
pantry  door  exclaimed,  "  Keep  them  away  from 
me;  I'm  in  no  mood  to  discuss  religious  philos 
ophy  to-night." 

After  giving  each  member  of  the  crew  a  small 
Bible,  and  praying  for  our  souls  in  the  safe  pas 
sage  home,  the  old  missionary  women  shoved  off 
for  the  shore,  apparently  not  at  all  pleased  with 
their  evening's  work. 

If  they  had  brought  about  four  quarts  of 
Scotch  whiskey  on  board  they  would  have  had  no 
trouble  in  converting  the  crew,  for  even  the  cook 
could  be  reconciled  to  any  form  of  religion,  old 
or  new,  as  long  as  the  Scotch  flowed  freely. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  DRIVE  WITH  CAPTAIN  KANE  —  KAZOKBACK 
RAMPANT 

The  next  day  Captain  Kane  and  I  started  for 
our  drive  into  the  island  with  an  old  battered 
two-seated  rig.  The  horse,  though  old  in  years, 
had  a  look  of  being  well  taken  care  of,  and  was 
rather  inclined  to  shy  as  he  gazed  at  an  unfamil 
iar  palm  or  cocoanut  tree.  I  hesitatingly  offered 
to  spell  the  Captain  off,  and  asked  him  to  let  me 
drive  awhile.  He  turned  on  me  very  angrily 
and  said,  "  There  is  no  damned  ship  that  ever 
sailed  the  seas  that  required  more  careful  steer 
ing  than  this  horse  does.  One  has  got  to  know 
just  how  much  helm  to  give  him.  If  you  should 
put  it  hard  over  and  get  him  on  the  home  tack 
all  Hell  couldn't  stop  him  until  he  reached  the 
stable.  Oh,  I  know  him,"  continued  the  Captain, 
"  he  has  a  mouth  on  him  that  will  hold  like  the 
devil's  claw  on  a  windlass." 

194 


A  DRIVE  WITH  CAPTAIN  KANE       195 

As  we  drove  through  the  rice  fields,  I  noticed 
that  Hindoos  were  doing  the  work;  here  and 
there  could  be  seen  the  lazy  natives  asleep  under 
the  trees.  "  My  object,"  said  the  Captain,  as 
he  coaxed  the  old  horse  past  a  flying  turban  that 
seemed  to  be  coming  unfastened  from  its  wearer, 
"  my  object  in  taking  you  on  this  trip  is  to  show 
you  the  result  of  a  hurricane  that  happened  here 
twelve  years  ago.  It  will  not  be  necessary  for 
me  to  discuss  the  velocity  of  the  hurricane,  you'll 
be  able  to  judge  for  yourself  when  we  pass  that 
village  ahead.  But,"  continued  the  Captain, 
"  for  God's  sake  don't  talk  above  a  whisper  while 
I  steer  Timbuctoo "  (for  this  was  the  horse's 
name)  "through  the  palm  village.  You  can  see 
by  the  action  of  his  head  that  he  is  about  to  make 
heavy  weather  of  it." 

I  must  say  that  the  old  horse  had  taken  a  new 
lease  of  life;  he  did  not  seem  to  be  conscious  of 
his  cocked  ankles  or  the  spavins  or  other  con 
spicuous  growths  that  covered  his  legs.  With 
head  erect,  arched  neck  and  ears  pitched  for 
ward,  he  was  not  at  all  particular  about  using 
his  front  feet,  but  rather  inclined  to  do  the  cake 
walk,  and  always  waiting  a  chance  to  turn  and 


196  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

bolt  for  home.  This  was  worrying  the  Captain, 
for  he  said  anxiously,  "  I  have  driven  him  many 
times,  but  never  have  I  seen  him  act  like  this. 
It's  these  hellish  Fijian  huts  with  their  palm- 
covered  roofs  that  are  getting  on  his  nerves." 

Things  were  going  along  about  as  well  as  could 
be  expected  until  we  were  about  at  the  center  of 
the  straggling  village.  Then  it  happened  that 
from  out  a  palm-covered  hut  strolled  a  razor- 
back  hog,  seemingly  unconcerned  as  to  our  pres 
ence  and  not  inclined  to  observe  the  rules  of  the 
road.  The  Captain  smelled  danger,  as  he  warped 
an  extra  turn  of  the  lines  around  his  hands,  and 
remarked  rather  nervously,  "  There's  going  to  be 
Hell  here  in  about  a  minute." 

Timbuctoo  felt  as  uncomfortable  as  his  driver ; 
he  too  sensed  the  danger  of  this  razor-backed 
hog.  Captain  Kane  relaxed  his  hold  on  the  reins 
to  adjust  his  cheese-cutter  cap  to  a  more  sea 
worthy  position.  While  doing  so  the  hog  stopped 
in  front  of  Timbuctoo.  All  would  even  then 
have  been  well  had  it  not  been  for  the  curiosity 
of  this  hungry-looking  razor-back.  I  suggested 
to  the  Captain  that  I  get  out  and  drive  the  hog 
away.  "  Hell  and  damnation,  no,"  roared  the 


A  DRIVE  WITH  CAPTAIN  KANE       197 

Captain,' "  keep  your  seat,  I  will  pass  under  his 
quarter." 

Timbuctoo  veered  to  starboard  under  the 
steady  hand  of  Captain  Kane.  This  move  was 
in  accordance  with  the  rules  of  the  road,  but 
unfortunately  it  proved  fatal,  for  it  exposed 
Timbuctoo's  warty  legs  to  the  hungry  hog.  He 
evidently  thought  that  this  was  a  new  kind  of 
crop  that  did  not  require  rooting,  which,  to  judge 
from  the  two  large  rings  in  his  nose,  was  a  lost 
art  with  him. 

Before  the  Captain  could  brace  his  clubby 
boots  against  the  dash-board  the  razor-backed 
hog  reached  out  with  his  long  mouth  and  took 
hold  of  Timbuctoo's  most  conspicuous  wart, 
which  was  dangling  on  the  right  hind  leg.  When 
Timbuctoo  felt  this  smarting  insult  he  decided 
not  to  await  orders  from  his  venerable  driver. 
Grasping  the  bit  in  his  mouth,  he  started  full 
speed  ahead.  "  There  he  goes,"  roared  the  Cap 
tain,  "  and  God  knows  when  he  will  stop." 

Dan  Patch  had  nothing  on  Timbuctoo.  The 
cocoanut  trees  looked  like  telephone  poles  as 
one  sees  them  while  riding  on  the  Twentieth  Cen 
tury  Limited.  "  I  would  not  care  a  damn  how 


198  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

far  he  would  run,"  sang  out  the  Captain  as  if 
shouting  to  a  man  on  the  topsail  yard  in  a  gale 
of  wind,  "  if  I  had  not  promised  to  make  a  speech 
at  the  missionary  meeting  to-night." 

"Let  me  try  him,  Captain?"  said  I. 

"  You  try  him,"  said  he,  "  what  in  Hell  do  you 
know  about  animals?  There  is  no  living  man 
could  do  anything  with  him  now,  he  has  too  much 
damn  steam  up,  all  we  can  do  is  to  trust  to  luck 
and  keep  our  helm  in  midship  and  let  him  run 
before  it." 

After  running  about  two  miles  he  seemed  to 
realize  that  the  Captain  was  still  with  him  and 
not,  as  he  expected,  back  with  the  razor-backed 
hog.  Very  much  disappointed,  he  broke  into  a 
dog  trot,  much  to  the  relief  and  satisfaction  of 
the  Captain.  As  he  withdrew  his  number  tens, 
which  had  perforated  through  the  dashboard,  he 
said,  "  Well,  I  have  never  come  through  a  storm 
and  lost  as  little  canvas  as  on  this  here  passage." 

Timbuctoo  had  no  desire  to  set  the  fisherman's 
staysails,  he  was  content  to  slow  down  to  a  walk. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Captain,  "  let  me  get  my  bear 
ings.  Before  we  met  the  razor-back,  I  was 


A  DRIVE  WITH  CAPTAIN  KANE       199 

going  to  show  you  the  results  of  a  hurricane  as 
we  know  them  in  the  Fijis." 

After  Captain  Kane  had  read  the  various  loga 
rithms  in  regard  to  his  position,  he  decided  that 
with  the  hypothenuse  over  the  base  the  sine  lay 
ahead  and  after  driving  about  one-half  mile,  we 
came  to  a  large  boulder  alongside  the  narrow 
road.  "How  much  does  that  boulder  weigh?" 
sniffed  the  Captain. 

"  Oh/'  said  I,  "  about  four  tons." 

"  Would  you  believe,"  said  he,  "  that  during 
the  hurricane  of  twelve  years  ago  this  boulder 
was  carried  a  distance  of  three  miles?  "  The 
Captain  was  somewhat  injured  at  my  not  show 
ing  more  enthusiasm.  I  must  say  that  the 
boulder  story  was  hard  to  absorb,  although  from 
its  present  position  on  the  surface  of  the  ground 
it  showed  that  it  had  been  moved  there  recently 
by  some  force  other  than  the  hand  of  man. 

Taking  a  chew  of  tobacco  and  damning  Tim- 
buctoo  for  daring  to  rub  his  foaming  mouth  on 
his  pea  jacket,  he  said,  "  You  may  not  believe  that 
this  was  moved  by  the  hurricane.  By  God,  I 
can  prove  it  and  prove  it  I  will  when  we  reach 


200  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Suva."  Evidently  he  hoped  to  invoke  the  testi 
mony  of  some  of  the  worthies  who  drink  their 
Scotch  to  the  lullaby  of  the  sad  sea  waves.  On 
our  way  back  to  Suva  I  was  impressed  by  the 
scenery  of  the  interior  of  the  island,  the  rolling 
hills,  the  native  timber  resembling  California  red 
wood  in  color,  the  tall  cocoanut  trees,  the  fre 
quent  smell  of  the  pineapple,  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  a  date  palm  trying  to  rear  its  head 
from  amongst  the  tropical  foliage,  claiming  a 
riparian  right  to  the  native  shrubbery. 

Timbuctoo,  on  the  way  back  to  Suva,  was 
slipping  it  off  as  well  as  he  could  after  his  recent 
flight.  The  razor-back  hog  recalled  early  mem 
ories  to  me  of  the  country  I  knew  when  I  was  a 
boy.  The  rings  in  their  noses  were  no  new  things 
to  me  in  that  far-off  country.  The  coming  of  the 
new  potato  crop  held  much  charm  for  the  Irish 
hog,  but  unfortunately  the  English  landlord 
claimed  a  prior  right  in  lieu  of  rent,  and  poor 
Barney  was  subjected  to  the  cruel  and  unmer 
ciful  treatment  of  having  horseshoe  nails  twisted 
in  his  nose. 

The  Captain  was  in  a  rather  sullen  mood  as 
we  drove  back.  Having  had  nothing  to  drink 


A  DRIVE  WITH  CAPTAIN  KANE       201 

but  the  milk  from  the  cocoanut,  he  exclaimed: 
"  Why  in  Hell  don't  some  one  start  a  half-way 
house  out  here  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  admire 
and  travel  these  islands?" 


CHAPTER  XXV 
HOMEWARD  BOUND  —  THE  STOWAWAY 

Having  cleared  the  English  customs  and  with 
a  clean  bill  of  health,  we  were  ready  to  sail.  The 
pilot  was  on  board  and  his  boat's  crew  had  a  line 
fast  through  the  stern  chalk  so  that  we  could 
tow  them  with  us  clear  of  the  channel  reef. 
Once  clear  of  the  reef  all  that  remained  to  do  was 
to  haul  the  pilot  boat  alongside  and  have  this 
servant  of  His  Majesty  climb  down  the  Jacob's 
ladder  and  into  the  boat  which  would  bear  him 
away  to  the  spot  where  the  sound  of  the  surf 
merged  into  the  music  of  the  clinking  glass. 

While  giving  orders  to  rig  out  slip  lines  for 
him  I  heard  a  familiar  voice  on  the  wharf  sing 
out  "  Bon  voyage,  bon  voyage."  I  looked  up  to 
see  the  portly  figure  of  Captain  Kane.  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  slept  in  his  clothes.  His  pea 
jacket  had  many  wrinkles  in  the  back  and  in 
front  it  was  inclined  to  roll  up  toward  his  chin. 

202 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  203 

I  jumped  ashore  to  say  good-bye  to  this  kind, 
if  groggy  old  sea  dog,  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  thanked  him  for  my  trip  to  the  interior  of 
the  island,  saying  that  I  hoped  to  see  him  again. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  I  am  getting  old,  but 
the  smell  of  the  Stockholm  tar,  the  white  flowing 
sails,  the  squeaking  blocks,  the  clink  of  the  cap 
stan,  bring  back  memories  of  long  ago,  and,  damn 
it  all,  it  makes  me  young  again." 

Captain  Kane  laid  great  stress  on  the  hurri 
cane  season,  as  January,  February  and  March 
were  the  months  to  be  dreaded  in  the  South  Seas. 
After  seeing  the  boulder  that  had  been  hurled 
by  the  last  hurricane  on  these  islands,  I  was 
hoping  that  I  should  be  well  enough  to  the  north 
ward,  so  that  if  one  should  come  I  would  be  out 
of  the  storm  center,  and  therefore  out  of  danger. 
The  pilot  was  nervously  pacing  up  and  down 
the  main  deck  anxious  to  get  me  away  from  the 
wharf  and  out  to  sea.  Possibly  a  game  of  chess 
had  been  left  unfinished.  I  jumped  aboard  and 
ordered  the  foresail  and  main  jib  set.  With  this 
done  and  the  slip  lines  hauled  aboard,  the 
"  Wampa "  glided  away  from  the  wharf  as  if 
propelled  by  steam. 


204  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

With  the  aftersails  spread  and  set  to  the  south 
east  trades,  and  sheets  trimmed  to  the  wind,  we 
were  not  long  in  clearing  the  channel  reef  and 
getting  out  into  open  water.  After  the  pilot  left 
I  ordered  the  topsails  set.  The  breeze  was  fair, 
and  I  was  anxious  to  clear  Bangor  Island  and 
get  to  the  westward  of  it  before  darkness  set  in. 

The  crew  looked  happy  even  after  their  night's 
debauch,  some  were  whistling,  others  humming 
familiar  ditties.  Riley  could  be  heard  singing 
"  Boiling  Home  Across  the  Sea  "  from  his  posi 
tion  on  the  foretopmast,  as  he  changed  the  top 
sail  to  windward,  a  job  which  is  usually  done 
with  very  little  sentiment  of  home  or  any  other 
place. 

Distance  was  shutting  out  the  tall  green  palms 
around  Suva,  and  the  town  itself  was  just  a  speck 
on  the  horizon.  Taking  careful  cross-bearings 
of  Bangor  Island,  so  as  to  avoid  the  dangers  and 
submerged  coral  reefs  that  project  from  it,  I 
ordered  the  staysails  set  to  increase  our  speed 
so  that  with  darkness  I  would  be  well  to  the  west 
ward. 

Our  staysails  were  put  away  and  stowed  in  the 
fore  peak  when  we  came  into  port.  The  second 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  205 

mate  went  forward  to  get  them  up,  and  Swanson 
went  down  to  bend  a-  line  around  them  before 
hauling  them  on  deck.  He  had  been  down  in 
the  fore  peak  only  a  minute  before  he  came  up 
the  ladder  running  very  excitedly  and  saying 
that  there  was  a  dead  man  lying  on  the  staysails. 
The  crew,  much  upset  by  this  remark,  slunk  away 
from  the  fore  peak  hatch  as  if  deadly  fumes  were 
coming  from  within,  so  I  got  a  lantern  and  went 
down  to  see  the  supposed  dead  man.  I  was  con 
fronted  by  a  Hindoo  stowaway. 

He  was  so  weak  from  the  heat  of  the  fore  peak 
and  thirst  that  he  seemed  to  have  little  life  left 
in  him.  I  called  up  to  the  deck  above  for  a 
couple  of  men  to  come  down  and  give  me  a  hand 
to  carry  him.  Old  Charlie  and  Riley  cautiously 
felt  their  way  down,  Riley  giving  orders  to  the 
crew  above  not  to  stand  too  close  to  the  small 
hatch,  as  it  might  be  necessary  for  him  to  ascend 
with  all  possible  speed  and  he  did  not  care  to 
have  any  obstruction  to  his  flight.  Old  Charlie 
approached  with  his  usual  forebodings..  The 
finding  of  the  dead  Hindoo,  in  his  estimation, 
meant  nothing  less  than  doom  and  destruction 
to  all  on  board. 


206  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

Riley  was  more  cheerful  when  he  found  that 
there  was  little  chance  of  physical  danger  from 
the  supposed  dead  man.  Bending  the  rope 
around  him  and  carrying  him  to  the  mouth  of 
the  hatch,  I  shouted  to  the  crew  on  deck  to  haul 
away  very  gently.  We  steered  him  up  the  hatch 
and  landed  him  on  deck  without  any  serious 
bumps.  The  cool  breeze  restored  him,  and  when 
we  forced  some  water  down  his  throat  he  began 
to  show  signs  of  life. 

I  went  aft  to  get  a  glass  of  Scotch  whiskey, 
knowing  that  this  would  stimulate  the  heart 
action.  After  taking  a  teaspoonful,  his  moaning 
changed  to  some  kind  of  Hindoo  gibberish.  This 
change  seemed  to  amuse  the  crew.  They  no 
longer  looked  gloomy  and  down  in  the  mouth,  but 
seemed  very  willing  to  help  him  in  his  fight  for 
life.  As  he  lay  there  I  was  seized  with  a  very 
inhuman  and  selfish  impulse.  The  night  shades 
of  the  tropical  evening  were  becoming  conspic 
uous  in  the  western  horizon,  the  run  on  the  log 
showed  the  "  Wampa  "  sixteen  miles  to  the  south 
ward  and  westward  of  Suva  harbor,  with  the 
southeast  point  of  Bangor  Island  bearing  two 
points  on  the  starboard  bow. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  207 

Should  the  Hindoo  stowaway  come  back  to 
life,  it  would  be  necessary  to  tack  ship  and  put 
back  to  Suva  in  order  to  put  him  ashore. 

U.  S.  alien  laws  are  well  known  to  sea-faring 
men.  This  stowaway  had  no  money,  no  position, 
and  all  that  he  had  in  the  way  of  clothes  was  a 
thin  pair  of  pants.  Should  unfavorable  condi 
tions  prevent  my  putting  him  ashore,  I  would  be 
forced  to  carry  him  to  San  Francisco.  Once 
there  I  knew  what  the  immigration  authorities 
wTould  do  to  me  or  to  the  owners.  More  than 
likely  I  should  have  to  pay  his  passage  back  by 
steamboat  to  the  Fiji  Islands.  With  darkness 
approaching  it  was  not  my  intention  to  put  back 
to  Suva  and  run  the  risk  of  striking  the  reef  at 
the  entrance  of  the  harbor.  For  these  reasons, 
I  should  much  prefer  a  sea  burial  for  the  Hindoo 
stowaway. 

While  these  hard  and  unsympathetic  thoughts 
were  passing  before  the  visible  horizon  of  my 
mind,  I  was  nevertheless  attracted  by  his  deli 
cate  and  artistic  form.  The  long  and  straight 
black  hair,  the  finely  molded  ears,  the  aquiline 
nose,  the  perfect  profile,  the  well-rounded  chin, 
the  sensual  mouth  with  its  uniform  white  teeth 


208  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

were  truly  oriental  of  high  caste.  An  unusual 
type  for  a  Fijian  contract  laborer. 

I  was  deeply  impressed  with  his  boyish  fig 
ure  as  he  lay  struggling  for  breath  on  the  deck. 
Suddenly  I  was  seized  with  an  impulse  of  sym 
pathy  for  this  frail-looking  creature.  Grasping 
the  bottle  of  Scotch  I  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and 
poured  some  down  his  throat.  This  act  caused 
him  to  strangle.  After  fighting  for  breath  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up  against  the  hatch 
combings. 

His  eyes  were  bright  and  fiery  and  seemed  to 
penetrate  through  one  like  an  X-ray.  They  took 
in  the  situation  at  a  glance.  He  realized  that 
he  was  out  at  sea.  His  gaze  alternated  from  the 
flowing  sail  to  the  members  of  the  crew.  His 
eye  finally  rested  on  Swanson,  he  being  the  most 
brutish  looking  sailor  of  those  who  were  stand 
ing  around,  and  therefore  the  most  to  be  feared. 
I  spoke  to  the  Hindoo  and  said,  "  How  long  have 
you  been  on  board?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  down  there," 
pointing  to  the  fore  peak,  "  for  three  days."  He 
spoke  English  without  an  accent.  Then  he  told 
how  he  had  swam  off  to  the  ship,  while  we  were 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  209 

still  lying  at  anchor,  and  said  that  he  had  no  idea 
that  we  would  have  been  delayed  so  long  before 
putting  to  sea. 

I  then  told  him  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
carry  him  to  the  United  States  of  America. 
Although  weak  from  heat  and  hunger,  he  stag 
gered  to  his  feet  and  kissed  my  hand,  crying, 
"  Oh,  please,  Captain,  take  me  along  with  you. 
I  cannot  live  there  under  these  horrible  condi 
tions,  working  for  sixpence  a  day  with  nothing 
to  eat  but  curry  and  rice.  I  will  work  for  you, 
I  will  do  anything,  only  take  me  away  from 
here." 

I  deeply  resented  my  previous  thought  of  dis 
posing  of  this  intelligent  Hindoo.  The  picture 
this  outcast  made  standing  there  trembling,  with 
tears  streaming  down  his  boyish  face,  pleading 
as  though  his  heart  would  break,  was  getting  the 
best  of  me.  Very  few  men  of  the  sea  can  stand 
tears  and  emotion.  Although  hardened  by  years 
of  kicks  and  knocks,  the  old-time  sailor  would 
much  prefer  a  knock-down  and  drag-out  to  any 
signs  of  agitation.  Many  of  the  crew  themselves 
consciously  looked  to  windward  and  wiped  away 
a  rusty  tear. 


210  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

While  the  Hindoo  was  still  pleading,  Swanson 
stepped  up  to  me  and  between  sobs  said,  "  I 
wish  you  would  take  him  along,  sir,  I  have  no 
one  in  the  world  to  care  for,  and  I  can  easily 
spare  the  forty  dollars  that  you  say  will  be  neces 
sary  for  him  to  enter  the  United  States."  With 
this  offer  coming  from  a  man  like  Swanson,  I 
was  as  much  overcome  as  the  Hindoo  was,  in  his 
pleading  for  liberty  to  be  taken  away  from  the 
low  and  dirty  castes  of  Bombay  and  Calcutta 
which  furnish  labor  for  the  Fiji  Islands.  He 
thanked  Swanson  by  gracefully  bowing  and  said, 
turning  to  me,  "  I  am  sure  you  can  make  some 
use  of  me  on  your  voyage  home."  This  state 
ment  proved  true,  for  had  it  not  been  for  the 
stowaway,  this  narrative  would  never  have  been 
written. 

The  Socialist  cook  was  standing  with  his  back 
up  against  the  galley,  deeply  impressed  with  this 
new  possibility.  From  the  way  he  ran  to  make 
milk  toast  for  the  Hindoo,  one  would  think  that 
at  last  he  had  discovered  a  new  clay  to  mold  and 
construct  and  pattern  after  his  own  impressions. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  MYSTERIOUS  HINDOO 

With  the  Hindoo  question  solved  and  the  fish 
erman's  staysails  set,  Suva  was  lost  in  the  dis 
tance  and  remained  but  a  memory.  By  the  time 
the  studded  diamonds  in  their  azure  setting  were 
twinkling  in  all  the  splendor  of  a  Southern  sky, 
we  were  well  to  the  westward  of  Bangor  Island. 
We  had  nothing  to  fear  from  coral  reefs  until  we 
neared  the  Gilbert  group,  which  lay  east  of  the 
180th  meridian  and  north  and  south  of  the  Equa 
tor. 

After  the  Hindoo  had  eaten  the  milk  toast  and 
found  that  he  was  in  the  midst  of  friends,  sail 
ing  away  to  a  country  where  opportunity  knocks 
on  the  door  of  hovels,  he  no  longer  looked  the 
slave  to  his  master.  He  refused  to  bunk  in  the 
forecastle,  preferring  to  sleep  under  the  fore 
castle  head.  The  tropical  nights  were  warm, 
and  for  the  time  being  this  was  a  comfortable 

part  of  the  ship  in  which  to  sleep.    The  crew 

211 


212  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

were  kind  enough  to  furnish  blankets  for  him, 
in  fact,  were  willing  to  give  him  anything  they 
had,  for  they  considered  him  an  unusual  guest. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  turned  in  and  left  orders  with 
the  second  mate  to  call  me  at  midnight.  By  that 
time  I  knew  that  if  we  held  our  present  rate  of 
eleven  knots  per  hour,  we  should  be  far  enough 
to  the  westward  to  change  the  course,  and  haul 
her  more  northerly.  Coming  on  deck  at  eight 
bells  and  getting  the  distance  run  on  the  log,  I 
went  back  to  my  room  to  measure  the  distance 
on  the  chart  before  changing  the  course.  I 
decided  to  run  one  more  hour  before  changing 
to  the  northward. 

Old  Charlie  was  at  the  wheel,  and  it  seemed 
from  the  way  he  was  clearing  his  throat  that 
he  was  anxious  for  a  chat.  But  discipline  for 
bade.  I  walked  forward  to  look  at  the  sails, 
and  see  if  they  needed  sweating  up.  While  look 
ing  around  I  ran  into  Riley,  who  as  usual  was 
smoking  his  clay  pipe,  with  its  black  bowl  and 
short  stem.  It  was  strong  enough  of  nicotine  to 
drive  a  wharf -rat  to  suicide. 

"  Riley,"  said  I,  "  no  doubt  you  are  happy  that 
we  are  on  the  last  leg  of  our  voyage." 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HINDOO  213 

Before  answering  he  gave  a  few  heavy  puffs 
on  the  old  dudeen  to  insure  its  not  going  out. 
While  he  was  doing  this  I  immediately  changed 
for  a  new  position  to  windward,  for  to  be  caught 
to  leeward  of  these  deadly  fumes  was  to  share 
the  fate  of  the  wharf -rat. 

"  Well,"  said  Riley,  "  I  am,  and  I  am  not." 

"  Come,"  I  replied,  "  what  is  it  that  troubles 
you?  "  Thinking  that  I  had  found  the  source  of 
his  discontent,  I  added, — "  Surely,  you  can't 
expect  me  to  feed  you  on  Scotch  whiskey  all  the 
passage  home?  What  little  there  is  on  board 
must  be  kept  for  medicine.  Just  think  what 
might  have  happened  to  the  poor  Hindoo  had  I 
not  had  a  little  Scotch  left  on  board." 

At  the  mention  of  the  Hindoo's  name  Eiley 
stepped  up  close  to  me,  saying,  "  Whisht,  and  it 
is  that  what  is  troubling  me,  it  is  that  damned 
coolie,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  forecastle. 

"  Surely,"  I  protested,  "  you  are  not  afraid  of 
that  poor  weak  creature." 

Riley  fastened  down  the  tin  cover  to  his  pipe 
so  as  to  secure  the  remains  of  the  tobacco  for 
future  use.  Economy  of  tobacco  is  strictly 
observed  on  long  voyages.  Even  the  ashes  have 


214  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

an  intrinsic  value  among  sailors,  like  the  kind 
ling  wood  of  a  coal  stove.  Tucking  the  pipe 
away  in  the  folds  of  his  breeches,  he  said : 

"  Ho,  ho,  and  it  is  afraid  you  would  have  me ! 
Shure'n  I  am  afraid  of  nothing  in  the  say,  and 
I  will  be  damned  if  I  will  be  afraid  of  anything 
on  top  of  it." 

"Well,  what  about  the  Hindoo,  what  harm 
can  he  do  to  you?" 

"  Oh,  it's  the  divil  a  bit  he  will  be  doing  me. 
It's  his  snaky  movements  and  his  ferret  eyes  that 
is  getting  on  me  nerves.  During  the  dog-watch," 
continued  Riley,  "  we  fixed  a  place  under  the 
foc's'le  head  for  the  coolie,  giving  him  what  blan 
kets  we  could  spare.  At  eight  o'clock  our  watch 
below  turned  in.  Says  I  to  Dago  Joe,  'Turn 
down  the  glim.'  *  I  will  blow  it  out/  says  he. 
'  Not  by  a  damn  sight,'  says  I.  '  Shur'n  we  are 
liable  to  scrape  our  bottom  on  an  auld  coral  reef 
around  here,  and  it  isn't  Mike  Kiley  that  is  going 
to  get  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap.'  The  Dago  is 
a  reasonable  man  to  talk  to,  and  with  that  he 
turns  the  light  very  low.  About  eleven  o'clock 
I  woke  up  along  the  hearing  Broken-Nosed  Pete 
snoring.  After  throwing  me  auld  shoe  at  him,  I 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HINDOO  215 

rolled  over  with  me  face  to  the  scuttle  hatch,  to 
get  meself  another  nap  before  eight  bells,  when  I 
see  the  Hindoo  standing  there  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ladder.  I  rubbed  me  eye  to  make  sure  it 
wasn't  desayving  me.  Pulling  meself  together, 
I  says  to  meself,  says  I,  *  Whativer  he  is,  he  is 
there  for  no  good  purpose.'  Begob,  the  stran 
gest  thing  about  the  coolie  was  that  he  did  not 
move  a  muscle,  but  stood  there  like  a  statue, 
staring  straight  into  me  eye. 

"  I  shouted  to  the  Dago  to  turn  up  the  light, 
which  is  within  easy  reach  of  him.  Says  I, 
'  Things  are  not  as  they  should  be  down  here.' 
With  me  eye  still  on  the  Hindoo,  Dago  Joe  turned 
up  the  light.  I  declare  to  me  Maker  when  the 
light  was  turned  up  the  Hindoo  had  disappeared. 

"  '  That's  damned  strange,'  says  I  to  Dago  Joe. 
*  Be  Hivens  he  was  standing  there  not  a  minute 
ago,'  and  when  I  comes  up  on  deck  at  eight  bells 
I  looked  under  the  foc's'le  head  and  there  he  is, 
fast  asleep.  So  I  lights  me  poipe,  and  takes  a 
look  over  the  sea  to  leeward  of  the  foresail,  to 
see  if  we  are  still  in  sight  of  land.  While  I  am 
standing  there  humming  a  bit  av  an  auld  ditty, 
all  of  a  sudden  I  felt  meself  in  the  presence  of 


216  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

something  uncanny,  and  turning  around  quick- 
like,  there  stood  the  coolie.  Ses  I  to  him,  ses  I : 

"  '  What  are  you  up  to,  me  boy? ' 

"  *  Oh,'  says  the  coolie,  '  the  wash  on  the  prow 
is  disturbing  to  my  peaceful  slumbers.  I  should 
much  prefer  being  crooned  to  sleep  by  the  wav 
ing  branches  of  a  Himalayan  evergreen.' 

"  Ses  I, l  Me  coolie  friend,  no  more  of  your  pal 
avering.  Back  to  bed  with  you,  and  stay  there.' 
I  looked  at  him  again,  and,  shure,  Howly  St. 
Patrick,  he  disappears  like  he  did  in  the  foc's'le." 

"  Where  is  he  now  Riley?  " 

"  Begobs,  and  I  don't  know,  sir." 

I  went  forward  to  see  the  strange  visitor  who 
seemed  to  be  causing  Riley  so  much  misery. 
There,  under  the  forecastle  head,  the  Hindoo  lay, 
wrapped  in  his  blankets,  sound  asleep. 

"  Riley,"  said  I,  "  you  drank  too  much  Scotch 
last  night ;  be  careful  that  you  don't  get  the  Jim 
mies  and  jump  overboard.  If  you  feel  yourself 
slipping  just  tie  a  gasket  around  you.  We  need 
you  to  work  ship  on  the  voyage  home." 

These  insults  were  too  much  for  Riley.  He 
slunk  away  to  the  lookout  where  Broken-Nosed 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HINDOO  217 

Pete  would  lend  a  willing  ear  to  his  story  of  the 
Hindoo  and  his  abuse  of  me. 

At  one  o'clock,  feeling  sure  of  the  reefs,  I 
changed  the  course  to  N.  N.  W. 

The  next  morning  the  Hindoo  was  eating  his 
breakfast  off  the  forehatch  and  looking  much 
better  than  he  had  on  the  preceding  evening. 
He  rose  and  thanked  me  kindly  for  the  interest 
we  had  taken  in  him,  saying: 

"  I  feel  the  pleasure  of  liberty  after  my  prison 
term,  among  those  terrible  people.  As  for  last 
night,  I  was  quite  comfortable.  I  can  easily  adapt 
myself  to  the  new  environment.  But  although  I 
could  not  quite  understand  what  the  one-eyed 
man  meant  when  he  bent  over  me  in  the  night, 
exclaiming,  '  There  he  is,  and  the  divil  a  move 
out  of  him,'  I  feel  nevertheless,  that  I  am  in  the 
midst  of  friends,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  to  enter 
tain  their  friendship." 

These  quaint  expressions  were  pleasing  to  me, 
and  I  continued  the  conversation.  He  said  that 
he  had  had  no  sea  experience.  That  while  going 
from  Bombay  to  the  Fiji  Islands  he  was  battened 
down  in  the  hold  with  the  rest  of  the  coolie  labor, 


218  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

and  only  allowed  to  walk  the  deck  a  short  time 
in  the  evenings.  He  was  anxious  to  work  and 
help  in  any  way  that  he  could.  The  second  mate 
put  him  to  work  scrubbing  paint-work.  There  is 
always  plenty  of  this  kind  of  work  to  be  done  on 
every  ship.  The  Hindoo  went  to  work  with  a 
will,  as  if  glad  to  have  the  opportunity. 

For  the  next  four  days  the  southeast  trades 
held  fair,  until  we  were  well  to  the  northward  of 
the  Fiji  group.  I  was  hoping  to  get  east  of  the 
180th  meridian  before  crossing  the  Equator, 
This  would  give  me  a  better  slant  before  I  struck 
the  northeast  trades.  Then  in  latitude  about  30° 
north  we  would  encounter  the  westerly  winds, 
which  would  be  fair  for  the  Pacific  coast. 

I  was  well  pleased  with  the  progress  we  had 
made  since  we  left  Suva,  and  I  anticipated  mak 
ing  a  sailing  record  from  the  Fijis  to  San  Fran 
cisco. 

Events  had  favored  us  since  our  departure. 
The  crew  were  willing  and  the  good  ship  herself 
seemed  to  feel  that  she  was  homeward  bound. 
But  our  outward  peace  was  somewhat  broken  by 
the  sudden  and  mysterious  illness  of  the  Hindoo, 
who,  after  the  second  day  out  from  Suva  refused 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HINDOO  219 

to  eat,  complaining  of  a  headache,  and  later 
remaining  for  hours  in  what  appeared  to  be 
almost  a  state  of  coma. 

I  was  worried  by  this  new  disease,  and  hoped 
that  it  would  not  prove  to  be  contagious.  As  a 
precautionary  measure,  I  removed  the  Hindoo 
aft  to  the  deceased  Captain's  cabin.  For  two 
days  it  was  with  a  great  effort  that  he  was  even 
aroused  to  drink  a  cup  of  bouillon. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  HURRICANE 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  our  fifth  day 
from  Suva,  I  was  awakened  by  hearing  the  booms 
and  gaffs  swinging  as  if  in  a  calm.  I  thought 
this  very  strange,  as  the  southeast  trades  should 
have  held  until  we  were  well  across  the  Equator. 
Bushing  up  on  deck,  I  was  indeed  surprised  to 
find  the  sails  hanging  in  midships,  and  not  a 
breath  from  any  quarter  of  the  compass. 

I  ordered  the  staysails  down  and  the  topsails 
clewed  up  and  made  fast,  also  the  flying-jib  and 
outer  jib.  (These  lighter  sails  in  a  calm  usually 
flop  to  pieces,  especially  where  there  is  a  rolling 
swell. )  Away  to  the  eastward  I  noticed  a  heavy 
bank  of  clouds,  but  considered  this  of  minor 
importance,  as  we  were  nearing  the  Equator.  It 
usually  means  heavy  rain,  but  seldom  wind. 

Yet  this  morning  there  was  something  out  of 
the  ordinary,  because  of  the  long  swell  coming 
from  the  northeast,  and  the  sickly  and  suffocat- 

220 


THE  HURRICANE  221 

ing  atmosphere.  The  unusual  stillness  was 
intensified  by  the  murmuring  and  talking  of  the 
crew.  The  men  who  were  making  fast  the  head- 
sails  on  the  flying  jibboom  could  be  heard  plainly 
from  the  poop  deck,  growling  and  swearing  as 
they  passed  the  gaskets  around  the  sails.  Such 
was  the  funereal  quietness  of  the  morning  that 
even  the  stars  were  hidden  in  halos  of  a  yellow 
ish  color. 

Giving  instructions  to  haul  in  the  log  line,  I 
went  below  to  look  at  the  barometer.  I  was  sur 
prised  to  find  it  falling.  I  next  consulted  a  Paci 
fic  directory,  and  found  that  these  unusual  con 
ditions  preceded  a  hurricane.  This  information 
upset  me  greatly.  I  had  never  experienced  a 
hurricane,  but  well  knew  that  their  force  and 
destructive  power  was  very  great. 

Before  going  on  deck  again,  I  looked  in  on  the 
Hindoo  in  the  Captain's  room.  As  usual,  he 
was  in  a  stupor,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  not  moved 
since  being  fed  the  preceding  evening.  I  did 
notice  from  the  heaving  of  the  skeleton-like 
breast,  that  the  breathing  was  regular,  and  not 
intermittent  as  it  had  been  on  the  preceding  even 
ing. 


222  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

On  deck,  I  had  all  the  reef -earrings  brought  up 
from  the  lazarette,  and  got  everything  in  readi 
ness  for  any  emergency. 

I  was  well  to  the  westward  of  the  Gilbert 
group,  but  still  to  the  eastward  of  the  180th 
Meridian.  Should  the  hurricane  come  out  of  the 
east,  I  could  heave  to  and  ride  it  out  without  any 
danger  of  fetching  up  on  one  of  the  Gilbert 
Islands. 

In  the  cabin  the  barometer  was  falling  so  fast 
that  it  now  showed  hurricane  weather.  I  knew 
that  it  was  only  a  question  of  a  few  hours  before 
we  should  feel  its  fury.  My  experience  was  lim 
ited  in  the  laws  of  storms.  If  we  were  in  the 
storm  center  it  would  be  necessary  to  put  her 
into  the  port  tack.  By  doing  this  I  should  be 
forced  south,  and  back  onto  the  northern  isles 
of  the  Fiji  group,  while  on  a  starboard  tack  I 
should  be  driven  onto  a  lee  shore  of  the  Gilbert 
Islands.  Either  course  meant  destruction. 

With  daylight  and  hot  coffee  this  gloomy  sit 
uation  assumed  a  more  cheerful  aspect.  While 
the  old  sailor  has  the  light  of  day  to  guide  him 
over  storm-tossed  decks,  he  becomes  more  toler 
ant  of  ship  and  crew. 


THE  HUREICANE  223 

At  half-past  five  the  white  caps  could  be  seen 
coming  from  the  northeast,  and  before  we  got 
the  spanker  down  the  gale  struck  us,  about  six 
points  on  the  starboard  bow.  The  old  ship 
reeled  to  leeward,  with  the  lee  rail  under  water. 
The  decks  were  almost  perpendicular.  It  seemed 
that  no  power  on  earth  could  right  her  to  an 
even  keel  again.  There  were  two  men  at  the 
wheel,  trying  to  keep  her  off  before  the  gale, 
but  it  was  of  no  avail,  for  she  refused  to  answer 
her  helm,  and  lay  throbbing  as  if  undecided 
whether  to  seek  a  watery  grave,  or  to  continue 
her  fight  for  victory. 

Swanson,  by  a  heroic  effort,  cut  the  fore  and 
main  sheet,  and  then  let  go  by  the  run.  The 
tense  situation  was  relieved  as  the  booms  flew 
seaward  over  the  lee  rail.  We  then  kept  her  off 
before  the  gale  with  the  wind  on  the  starboard 
quarter,  immediately  setting  to  work  to  reef  the 
fore  and  main  sail. 

By  nine  o'clock,  three  hours  and  a  half  later, 
it  was  no  longer  a  gale,  but  a  hurricane.  With 
three  reefs  in  the  foresail  and  a  goose-wing 
spanker,  we  ran  before  it.  It  was  too  late  to 
heave  to.  With  such  a  tremendous  sea  running 


224  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

if  would  mean  destruction  to  ship  and  crew  to 
try  the  latter  move.  As  it  was,  the  ship  was 
awash  fore  and  aft  from  seas  breaking  over  her. 
Should  the  hurricane  hold  out  for  ten  or  twelve 
hours  more  with  our  present  rate  of  speed  we 
should  be  dashed  to  pieces  against  one  of  the 
Gilbert  group. 

At  four  bells  the  velocity  of  the  hurricane  was 
so  great  that  one  was  in  danger  of  being  blown 
off  the  schooner.  We  rigged  life-lines  on  the  fore 
and  main  decks,  also  on  the  poop  deck,  and  by 
their  help  the  crew  managed  to  keep  from  being 
washed  or  blown  overboard.  The  sea  looked  like 
an  immense  waterfall,  one  enormous  roaring 
mass  of  foam.  Occasionally  from  out  of  this  ter 
rible  cataract  a  Himalayan  sea  would  gain  in 
momentum  and  dash  itself  against  our  starboard 
quarter,  submerging  the  vessel.  At  such  times 
all  that  would  be  identifiable  of  the  "  Wampa  " 
would  be  her  rocking  spiral  masts. 

Like  a  struggling  giant  she  would  raise  her 
noble  head  and  shake  herself  clear  of  this  octopus, 
shivering,  but  never  spent. 

About  noon  the  hurricane  jumped  suddenly 
from  the  northeast  to  east  southeast,  with- 


THE  HURRICANE  225 

out  losing  any  of  its  velocity.  In  order  to  keep 
running  before  it,  and  keep  the  wind  on  our  star 
board  quarter  we  hauled  more  to  the  northward 
and  westward,  although  to  do  this  it  was  neces 
sary  to  drive  into  a  beam  sea,  which  made  it  all 
the  more  dangerous.  Also  the  sea  was  driving 
from  the  east  southeast  and  this  formed  a  cross 
sea. 

When  these  two  seas  came  together,  the 
"  Wampa  "  would  rise  and  poise  on  them  as  if 
on  a  pivot.  In  this  position,  and  with  the  gale 
blowing  on  the  starboard  quarter,  her  head  would 
be  thrown  into  the  beam  sea.  It  looked  as  if 
we  could  not  survive.  There  was  constant  dan 
ger  of  our  being  broken  up  into  small  pieces.  We 
dropped  the  peak  of  the  spanker  that  formed  the 
goose-wing  sail,  put  it  into  gaskets,  and  ran 
with  a  three-reefed  foresail. 

We  then  put  the  oil-bags  over  the  stern  in  the 
hope  of  quieting  these  angry  seas.  But  this  was 
useless.  While  we  were  fastening  the  lines  that 
held  the  oil-bags  in  the  water,  a  crushing  comber 
came  whistling  along  and  filled  our  stanch  little 
ship  again  from  stem  to  stern.  When  she  shook 
herself  clear  of  the  boiling  foam  I  noticed  that 


226  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

our  oil-bags  were  gone,  and  with  them  the  Cap 
tain's  boat  which  hung  from  davits  over  the 
stern. 

Old  Charlie  and  Dago  Joe  were  steering.  Old 
Charlie  had  a  faraway  look  in  his  watery  eyes  as 
he  spoke  and  said: 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,  this  will  be  my  last  trick  at 
this  wheel." 

I  spoke  harshly  to  this  old  sailor,  saying,  "  To 
Hell  with  sentiment,  this  is  no  place  for  it. 
Watch  your  steering  and  don't  feel  sorry  for 
yourself."  Had  I  known  what  was  so  soon  to 
happen  I  should  not  have  so  upbraided  this  poor 
harmless  old  soul.  I  have  often  regretted  it. 

Riley,  who  was  taking  no  chances,  was  seem 
ingly  not  all  handicapped  by  his  one  eye. 
Always  alert  and  as  agile  as  a  tiger,  he  went 
about  the  decks  as  if  nothing  were  out  of  the 
ordinary,  although  to  hear  him  talking  to  him 
self  one  would  think  that  he  expected  to  be  extin 
guished  by  every  sea  that  came.  He  had  about 
twenty  feet  of  manila  rope  tied  about  his  waist 
with  the  end  held  in  his  hand.  When  a  sea 
would  hit  us  Kiley  would  see  it  coming,  and 
would  pass  the  rope  end  around  a  belaying-pin 


THE  HURRICANE  227 

or  anything  that  he  thought  would  hold  his 
weight. 

It  was  while  she  cleared  herself  from  the  sea 
that  carried  away  the  Captain's  boat  that  I  found 
Eiley  twisted  around  the  spanker  sheet  like  an 
eel.  It  took  him  some  time  to  extricate  himself, 
always  watching  the  progress  of  the  stern  sea, 
and  not  seeming  to  notice  his  number  ten  bro- 
gans,  which  had  woven  themselves  into  the 
spanker-sheet  falls.  The  hurricane  was  raising 
havoc  with  Riley's  mustache.  Having  blown 
all  over  his  face,  it  looked  as  if  the  only  way  to 
quiet  it  would  be  to  put  it  into  a  plaster  of  Paris 
cast.  He  finally  pulled  himself  clear  of  the 
sheet,  exclaiming: 

"  Be  Hivins,  and  wasn't  that  a  close  call  — " 
Just  then  Swanson  came  running  aft  and 
reported  that  the  martingale  guy  had  carried 
away  on  the  flying- jibboom.  It  was  then  that 
my  heart  sank  within  me.  I  knew  what  to 
expect.  Dismantled, —  then  to  perish  at  sea  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  MASTER  RETURNS 

The  thought  of  our  dead  captain  came  to  me, 
of  what  his  will  would  have  been  in  this  crisis 
of  life  and  death,  and  I  paused  to  wonder  why  he 
had  not  rested  until  he  was  assured  that  I  would 
not  carry  his  precious  treasures  back  with  me. 
Did  he  expect  this  situation,  and  doubt  my  abil 
ity  to  cope  with  it?  Action  followed  thought, 
and  I  ordered  the  second  mate  and  the  crew  for 
ward  to  see  what  could  be  done  with  the  martin 
gale  guy. 

Still  the  humor  of  the  moment  appealed  to  me. 
As  Riley  left  the  poop  he  shouted,  "  Be  the  Holy 
St.  Patrick,  it  has  blown  the  buttons  off  me  oil 
skin  coat."  There  was  no  question  about  its 
blowing,  but  it  was  also  possible  that  his  snake- 
like  position  on  the  spanker-sheet  had  something 
to  do  with  the  lost  buttons. 

It  was  now  past  noon.  None  of  the  crew  cared 
to  eat,  preferring  the  wave-swept  deck  to  any- 

228 


THE  MASTER  RETURNS  229 

thing  the  cook  had  to  offer.  The  murderer  who 
pays  for  his  crime  on  the  gallows  and  enjoys  his 
ham  and  eggs  on  the  morn  of  execution  may  be 
happy  indeed,  but  this  does  not  apply  to  the 
sailor.  When  there  is  a  life  and  death  battle 
on  with  the  elements,  he  is  there  to  grab  the  one 
last  chance  if  there  be  one.  If  not,  he  prefers 
a  watery  grave  to  claim  him  with  his  stomach 
empty. 

The  seas  kept  coming  larger,  and  every  time 
one  would  break  and  spend  itself  on  the  decks 
I  thought  it  would  be  the  last,  and  that  she 
could  not  arise.  But  she  shook  herself  clear  as 
she  climbed  the  waves;  then  again  the  sea,  and 
again  the  dread. 

I  could  not  leave  the  poop  nor  the  two  men 
at  the  wheel.  A  wrong  turn  at  this  howling, 
raging  time,  would  mean  quick  despatch  to  the 
land  of  no  awakening.  Sometimes  even  the 
helmsmen  grew  afraid,  but  a  word  of  encourage 
ment  sufficed  to  quiet  them. 

While  I  was  standing  to  windward  of  the  men 
at  the  wheel,  watching  her  every  move  as  she 
was  pitched  hither  and  thither  on  this  crazy 
spiral  sea,  she  shipped  a  green  sea  that  shook 


230  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

her  from  stem  to  stern.  It  was  with  great  diffi 
culty  that  she  raised  her  black  hull  to  the  raging 
storm  again.  I  shouted  to  the  men  at  the  wheel. 
It  was  too  late.  She  had  broached  to  with  the 
stern  sea  on  the  beam,  and  the  beam  sea  right 
ahead. 

Then  the  beam  sea  submerged  her,  and  by  it  I 
was  carried  across  the  poop  deck,  and  found 
myself  held  under  the  wheel-box,  with  both  legs 
pinned  in  a  vise-like  grip  by  the  tiller,  which 
extended  forward  of  the  rudder-head.  Although 
dazed  and  strangled  by  the  terrible  impact  of  the 
water,  I  managed  to  twist  the  upper  part  of  my 
body  towards  the  wheel  and  to  murmur,  "  For 
God's  sake  keep  her  off." 

My  weakened  voice  was  lost  in  the  tempest. 
There  were  no  ears  to  hear  my  pleadings.  The 
men  at  the  wheel  were  gone.  Gone,  indeed,  to  a 
watery  grave,  and  perhaps  the  others  also. 
With  me  it  would  not  take  long.  Just  another 
raking  like  the  last  one,  and  then  the  finish. 
Again  the  cook's  words  echoed  louder  than  the 
raging  storm,  "  Do  we  finish  here?  " 

As  I  lay  there  pinned  to  the  deck,  too  helpless 


THE  MASTER  RETURNS  231 

to  even  call  aloud,  and  as  it  seemed  waiting, 
waiting,  for  the  executioner  to  spring  the  deadly 
trap,  I  was  conscious  that  the  door  of  the  com 
panion-way  had  closed  with  a  bang  so  terrific 
that  it  sounded  above  the  storm.  I  twisted  my 
head  and  shoulders  around  to  see  if  I  dared  to 
hope.  There  before  me  stood  the  Hindoo  stow 
away.  He  did  not  notice  me  lying  there  pinned 
under  the  wheel-box,  nor  could  I  manage  to 
attract  his  attention. 

With  opal  eyes  glowing  green  and  fiery  red, 
he  sprang  to  the  wheel,  and  with  magnificent 
strength  pulled  on  the  spokes  till  they  screeched 
louder  than  the  storm  as  they  were  dislodged 
from  their  oxidized  fittings.  Harder  and  harder 
he  pulled  on  the  wheel.  He  didn't  even  notice 
the  seas  breaking  over  him.  The  mysterious 
thing  about  him  was  that  he  seemed  to  know  what 
he  was  doing.  He  was  keeping  her  off  before  it. 

In  doing  this  he  removed  the  tiller  from  my 
legs.  At  last  I  was  free.  As  I  struggled  and 
crawled  to  the  weather-rail  for  support,  the 
Hindoo  shouted  in  clear  and  ringing  tones,  in 
true  seamanlike  fashion,  looking  neither  to  the 


232  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

right  nor  left,  but  straight  ahead,  as  if  staring 
into  a  land-locked  harbor.  He  repeated  his  order 
for  the  second  time  in  a  high  tenor  voice : 

"  Get  an  axe  out  of  the  donkey-room  and  cut 
away  the  lee  martingale  guy.  Your  fly  ing- jib- 
boom  is  gone  overboard  and  is  still  held  by  the 
lee  guy.  It  is  plowing  a  hole  in  the  port  bow." 

I  knew  but  one  law.  The  law  of  self-preserva 
tion.  My  arms  were  locked  tight  around  the 
stanchion  that  supported  the  weather-rail.  That 
quick  command  of  the  Hindoo  brought  me  sharply 
to  the  realization  that  I  was  not  yet  given  that 
quick  despatch  to  the  land  of  nowhere,  but  was 
still  in  the  flesh,  and  very  much  alive.  My  first 
rational  thought  was,  "  What  in  Hell  is  the 
Hindoo  doing  at  the  wheel?"  My  pride  as  a 
sailor  resented  the  affront  put  upon  my  ability 
as  a  sailor  by  a  stowaway  who  was  daring  to 
assume  the  command  of  my  ship,  and  daring  to 
issue  orders  to  me. 

Letting  go  my  hold  on  the  stanchion,  I  cau 
tiously  made  for  the  Hindoo  helmsman.  While 
in  the  act,  she  shipped  another  drencher.  I  was 
carried  off  my  feet  and  washed  away  to  the  lee 
scuppers.  But  I  managed,  by  some  interposition 


THE  MASTER  RETURNS  233 

of  Divine  Providence,  to  fasten  my  arms  around 
the  mooring-bitt,  thus  saving  myself  from  an 
angry  and  cruel  sea,  which  seemed  to  delight  in 
playing  with  me  as  a  cat  does  with  a  mouse,  only 
to  swallow  me  up  in  its  fathomless  depths. 

Once  again  she  wrenched  herself  free  of  the 
mad  swirl  and  her  stern  went  down  until  we 
were  in  a  valley  between  mountains  of  water. 
I  realized  as  I  looked  up  at  the  bows  which 
seemed  to  be  towering  above  me,  that  the  flying- 
jibboom,  like  a  clipped  wing,  was  missing.  Like 
a  flash  I  wondered  how  the  Hindoo  knew  that  the 
jibboom  was  gone. 

As  her  stern  ascended  high  into  the  air,  I 
jumped  for  the  wheel  and  with  an  exclamation  of 
joy  I  shouted,  "  God  in  Heaven,  the  Captain !  " 

There  he  stood  beside  the  Hindoo.  The  dead 
Captain.  The  same  heavy  mustache  covered 
the  lower  lip.  The  same  fiery  eyes  that  knew  no 
defeat.  He  was  looking  straight  ahead  with 
muscle-set  jaws.  He  appeared  as  if  in  the  flesh 
and  ready  as  of  yore  to  battle  with  the  elements. 

Then,  like  a  flash,  he  vanished,  and  the  Hindoo 
stood  alone,  pulling  and  tugging  on  the  wheel 
with  his  supple  arms. 


234  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

He  spoke,  and  his  usually  high-pitched  tenor 
voice  rang  out  piercingly  clear.  "  Cut  away 
your  jibboom,  you  have  no  time  to  lose.  Have 
no  fear." 

I  knew  that  her  former  Captain  was  in  com 
mand  of  the  ship,  and  that  his  masterly  seaman 
ship  wrought  through  the  Hindoo.  I  crept  for 
ward  with  new  courage  to  do  his  bidding. 

Huddled  together  beneath  the  forecastle-head 
stood  what  remained  of  the  crew,  who  seemed  not 
to  know  that  two  of  their  number  were  gone. 
The  second  mate  was  praying,  and  helpless  from 
fear  to  be  of  any  use  in  handling  the  schooner. 
Riley  had  his  three-inch  sailor's  rope  fast  to  the 
windlass  with  one  extra  turn  around  his  body. 
He  was  taking  no  chances.  Swanson  was  the 
only  one  without  fear.  When  I  called  for  a 
volunteer  to  cut  away  the  flying  jibboom  he  made 
for  the  axe  and  rushed  onto  the  sea-swept  fore 
castle-head.  As  the  schooner  arose  high  in  the 
air,  he  swung  over  the  lee  bow  and  with  one 
stroke  of  the  axe  cut  away  the  hemp  lanyard  that 
was  holding  the  massive  spar  from  its  freedom. 

For  five  hours  more  we  battled  with  the  hurri 
cane.  The  foretopmast  went  overboard,  and  all 


THE  MASTER  RETURNS  235 

our  boats  were  smashed  into  firewood.  The  lee 
bulwarks,  between  the  mizzen  and  mainmast, 
were  washed  away,  and  still  the  Hindoo  held  the 
wheel  and  issued  his  orders.  Many  times  I 
offered  to  take  the  wheel,  and  ordered  him  to  go 
below.  He  would  wave  me  away  with  his  hand, 
saying : 

"  Not  yet, —  soon,  soon." 

About  six  o'clock,  twelve  hours  and  a  half 
after  the  hurricane  struck  us,  the  wind  let  up 
some.  We  then  went  to  work  with  a  will  to 
patch  up  what  was  left  of  the  "Wampa,"  and 
for  the  first  time  since  half-past  five  o'clock  that 
morning,  we  realized  how  hungry  we  were.  It 
was  while  giving  orders  to  the  cook  that  I  looked 
towards  the  wheel  and  saw  that  the  Hindoo  was 
missing. 

Calling  Swanson  to  take  the  wheel  as  I  ran, 
I  rushed  to  find  him.  There  by  the  wheel  he 
lay,  where  he  had  fallen,  limp  as  a  rag, —  uncon 
scious.  Gathering  him  easily  into  my  arms,  I 
carried  him  to  the  Captain's  room,  laying  him  in 
the  bunk  as  carefully  as  if  he  were  a  babe  new 
born.  For  two  hours  we  worked  over  him,  the 
crew  unchidden  tiptoeing  back  and  forth  in 


236  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

clumsy  ministrations,  the  Socialist  cook  refusing 
to  leave  him.  As  he  finally  came  back  to  earth 
from  those  astral  regions  he  so  easily  frequented, 
a  sigh  of  relief,  almost  hysterical,  went  up  from 
the  whole  ship.  Surely  there  had  been  enough 
of  tragedy ! 

Along  about  eight  o'clock  the  wind  fell  very 
light.  As  there  was  still  a  heavy  swell  running, 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  put  sail  on  her  for  she 
would  shake  it  into  threads. 

While  walking  up  and  down  the  poop  deck  I 
could  hear  Eiley  and  the  cook  working  over  the 
stowaway.  My  thoughts  turned  to  old  Charlie 
and  to  Dago  Joe,  who  were  sleeping  their 
last  sleep  out  there  at  sea.  Had  it  not  been 
for  Him,  for  Him  who  had  loved  his  ship,  we 
would  all  have  shared  the  same  merciless  fate. 
What  might  have  happened  had  I  followed  my 
first  impulse  to  cast  the  Hindoo  overboard? 

The  cook  came  running  up  the  companion-way 
very  much  excited,  and  said  "  Come  down  quick, 
the  Hindoo  is  showing  signs  of  life."  In  the 
Captain's  room,  under  the  sickly  and  only  lamp, 
the  frail  body,  was  moving  from  side  to  side, 
sometimes  making  a  feeble  effort  to  sit  up,  often 


THE  MASTER  RETURNS  237 

swinging  his  arms  as  if  to  ward  off  some  impend 
ing  danger.  Then  he  asked  for  a  drink  of  water 
and  gradually  became  rational. 

When  I  told  him  what  a  wonderful  service  he 
had  performed,  he  smiled  and  said,  "  Surely  you 
can't  mean  me."  I  insisted,  telling  him  in  detail 
how,  when  two  men  had  been  washed  overboard, 
he  had  seized  the  wheel  and  saved  the  ship. 
"  You  must  be  mistaken,"  he  protested,  "  I  have 
not  been  on  deck,  and  I  cannot  steer,  I  know 
nothing  whatever  about  a  ship  as  a  sailor.  But 
I  have  just  awakened  from  a  dream  that  was 
worse  than  your  Christian  Hell." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE  HOME  PORT 

"  The  wind  is  from  the  south-southeast,  sir," 
sang  out  Swanson  from  the  wheel.  Riley  gave 
voice  to  my  impulse  when  he  said,  "  Thank  God, 
it  is  the  southeast  trades  again,  sir." 

The  days  that  followed  brought  us  fine  weather 
and  a  gentle  breeze.  We  were  fortunate  enough 
to  escape  the  doldrums.  The  southeast  trades 
carried  us  into  the  northeast  trade  winds.  In 
latitude  30°  north  we  struck  the  westerly  winds 
that  blow  fair  for  the  Pacific  coast  of  the  U.  S.  A. 
Fifty-six  days  from  Suva  we  rounded  Lime  Point, 
sailed  up  Frisco  Bay,  and  dropped  the  hook  off 
Goat  Island. 

The  owner  welcomed  me  at  his  office,  and  was 
pleased  indeed  to  know  that  his  favorite  schooner 
was  once  again  in  her  home  port. 

Later,  when  we  were  towed  alongside  the 
wharf,  the  good  ship  "  Wampa  "  was  the  object 
of  much  speculation  among  the  old  hard-shelled 

238 


THE  HOME  POET  239 

water-front  men,  not  so  much  from  her  battered 
condition,  although  she  was  minus  port  bulwarks, 
f oretopmast  and  flying  jibboom,  as  from  some  air 
of  mystery  which  in  a  conscious  way  seemed  to 
emanate  from  the  very  hull  of  her.  Veterans  of 
the  deep  who  were  in  port  loading  new  cargoes, 
would  come  and  go,  walking  in  silence  like  pall 
bearers. 

Possibly  this  was  due  to  the  appearance  of  the 
Hindoo  stowaway,  or  it  may  have  been  that  the 
occult  voyage  of  the  "  Wampa  "  had  been  aired 
in  Rooney's  Steam  Beer  Joint  which  was  at  the 
end  of  the  wharf.  Yet  with  all  this  hushed 
solemnity,  I  do  believe  that  it  was  I  who  most 
sincerely  mourned  our  Captain  and  the  two  hon 
est,  simple  sailormen  whose  lives  had  been  so 
unprotestingly  given  to  their  duty.  Many  a  voy 
age  have  I  had  since  then,  but  at  no  time  have 
I  ever  felt  at  once  so  near  to  Humanity,  and  to 
the  Infinite.  The  Hindoo,  who  had  picked  up 
and  grown  fat  on  the  cook's  pea-soup  and  salt- 
horse,  went  to  a  home  which  I  found  for  him  with 
a  hotel  man,  who  advanced  the  entry-fee,  and  put 
him  to  work  as  a  porter.  He  saved  his  money 
and,  after  familiarizing  himself  with  the  customs 


240  THE  FLYING  BO 'SUN 

and  conventions  of  the  Western  people,  he  moved 
north  to  the  State  of  Oregon,  where  he  went  into 
the  real  estate  business,  acquiring,  up  to  eight 
years  ago,  a  goodly  sum  of  money. 

The  Socialist  cook  exchanged  his  greasy  dun 
garees  for  a  pair  of  hand-me-down  creaseless 
serge  pants.  With  these  and  a  much-worn 
broadcloth  coat  that  had  long  withstood  gales 
from  the  critics  of  equal  distribution,  he  entered 
once  more  the  harness  of  Socialism.  With  him 
he  took  Toby,  the  black  cat,  to  a  life  ashore.  I 
believe,  though,  that  his  voyage  on  the  "  Wampa  " 
had  changed  his  materialistic  ideas. 

Kiley  swore  that  he  had  made  his  last  trip  on 
windjammers,  but  that  should  necessity  compel 
him  to  take  again  to  the  sea,  he  would  sail  in  a 
gentleman's  yacht.  There  he  would  be  sure  of 
frequent  home  ports,  each  with  its  black-eyed 
Susan  reigning  supreme.  But  conditions  were 
not  as  Riley  had  planned.  The  steam  beer  was 
as  plentiful  as  ever,  but  the  dinero  was  running 
low,  and  he  had  to  take  the  first  thing  that 
offered  that  would  reef  and  steer.  Since  then  I 
have  met  him  many  times. 

Swanson,  the  most  daring  and  best  sailor  of  the 


THE  HOME  PORT  241 

"  Wampa's  "  crew,  went  to  a  navigation  school 
in  San  Francisco.  With  his  second  mate's 
papers  he  put  off  on  a  long  Southern  voyage,  and 
after  a  few  years  he  became  captain. 

For  my  services  the  owner  of  the  "  Wampa  " 
promised  me  the  command  of  a  vessel  that  was 
overdue  from  South  America,  and  which  was 
expected  any  day.  After  two  weeks  had  passed 
without  news  from  the  South  American  wan 
derer,  I  headed  North.  The  Yukon  was  calling 
for  men  of  endurance  and  men  of  red  blood  to 
come  and  uncover  her  hidden  treasures. 


THE  END 


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The  flying 
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